Oblivious Todoroki X Hero Partner Reader

need some “fuck, you’re so hot” / “can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you” / “i’ve dreamt about this for so long” type dick

It's unfathomable, even more so when you realize this isn't the first time Israel has done this. She was a baby. The men were so obviously red crescent medics, and still, Israeli soldiers shot and killed them.

It wasn't a misfired bomb. It was guns. They knew what they were targeting.

Anyone who defends this, for whatever religion you believe in, even if you believe in nothing at all, I can only hope the afterlife brings you your deserved suffering on a platter. You're disgusting, vile creatures, who must've snuck onto the Earth because there is no way in nature that you are human. Die.

نَّا ِلِلَّٰهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ

Save the children of Palestine. Protect the medics. Free Palestine. 🇵🇸

Omg imagine soft!yandere Eddie first meets the reader when he saves her from muggers in his Riddler get-up. The reader passes out bc the muggers drugged her so she wakes up in Eddie's apartment curled up on his lap and he's gently running his fingers through her hair while humming.

A/N: Hell yea, he’s so protective, I feel like a relationship with soft yandere Eddie would be love at first sight 😍

Pairing: Dano!Riddler x reader (The Batman 2022)

Warnings: Soft!Yandere Riddler, mentions of violence and drugs, obsessive loving 💚

Words: 1199

If you hadn't gone out so late in the first place, you would never have been nearly killed... and would never have ended up at the Riddler's apartment.

Thugs infest the streets of Gotham, particularly at night, spray painting and attacking and stealing, before that bat signal is up in the air. It wasn't lighting up a circle of the darkening sky when you were grabbed and yanked into an alley, a few minutes away from being some muggers' new toy. Your yelp of pain and shock had been muffled behind a gloved hand as one of the thugs pierced your skin with a syringe of some sort, and your vision began swimming as you struggled to keep the evening in focus, the cackles of the group dying in and out.

The cackles came to an abrupt stop when they were hit.

You didn't see much, but you didn't really need to. You heard the cracks, saw the crimson drips, heard the heavy, shuddering breaths replace the previous mocking laughter. You had to stay awake, you had to... but the world was fading to black around you, and your legs threatened to give way as you leaned against a wall for support.

The figure amongst the bodies was suddenly at your side, their arms slipping under your back and hooking underneath your legs, picking you up and holding you close to their chest. You tried to struggle, unaware of who it was - probably another thug rivalling against the now dead ones.

"Ssh, ssh, ssh," the man hushed from under some sort of mask, and with a sigh, you let yourself finally go limp in his careful hold. "That's it..."

You wake up groggily, a dull ache in the back of your head. You blink as your eyes adjust to the mild light of the early morning, partially closed off by blinds hanging over the window.

You frown in confusion as you took in your surroundings. You're in someone's apartment - it sure as hell isn't yours - that looks pretty cluttered, with hundreds of books stuffed in bookcases and a long length of dark green material pinned up on the wall, a large white question mark painted over it.

Well, wherever you are, you need to get out before-

As if on cue, a masked individual appears at the door, and your breath catches in your throat as you quickly push yourself upright in awareness. Your head throbs in protest, and the man's eyes widen from behind his clear-framed glasses, hurrying into the room and taking ahold of your shoulders gently.

"No, no, don't do that," he tells you softly, easing you down until you're lying back on the bed, "take it slowly, angel, okay?"

You let out a long breath, trying and failing to understand what's going on.

"You shouldn't have lasting damage," he continues, sitting beside you and stroking your hair away from your face. "That scum didn't know what they were injecting. It was a weak sedative, no lasting effects. You're going to be just fine, sweet girl."

You nod slowly, recognising the mask and the symbol now you've properly come to.

"You're the Riddler."

"You know who I am?" He's almost giggling with excitement, his smile reaching his eyes behind his mask. "That's wonderful! Then you know that all I want to do is protect you... and love you..."

Your eyes go round at the last comment. "But... you don't know who I am."

"I know some things," he admits, "I can find out a lot of things, but I'd much rather it be you telling me. And it can be! We have all the time in the world."

You can barely process what's happening here. How it's gone from the Riddler happening to come across you and those thugs, then him potentially saving your life, to waking up in his apartment to straight out love confessions. He looks so hopeful too, you can tell.

Well. He did save your life. And, being totally honest, you aren't against the Riddler at all. You hate people like the ones you were grabbed by, and life would be a whole lot better without them.

So who are you to say no just yet?

"Um... okay," you breathe, still in a slight daze, and the Riddler smiles at you fondly, his ungloved hands brushing against your forehead.

"Does your head hurt as one of the minor side effects?" He questions you worriedly. "I'll get you some painkillers and water, if you like."

You muster up a small smile and nod, and then the Riddler's up, leaving the room for a minute to get them. You sit up, slower this time, and take a good look around the room, brows twitching in interest as your gaze glides over books of 'Renewal' and scrap papers scribbled all over with squiggles and cyphers.

The Riddler comes back and hands you the tablet and water, and you take them thankfully as his hands linger around his mask.

"I think I might take this off," He says hesitantly, "though I really shouldn't. But you won't know who I am anyway. And I trust you not to say anything."

You nod, deciding to trust him too, killer or not, in the circumstances. "No, I... I won't."

That settles it for him, and the Riddler removes his glasses before tugging off the mask and clingwrap covering his hair. Then the glasses are back on, and you stare in surprise and curiosity at the brown-haired and green-eyed man beside you, his expression a little anxious now he's exposed.

But you smile at him encouragingly, putting the water down on the table next to the bed. "Hi."

A dopey, lovestruck smile makes its way to his lips. "Hi. I'm Edward."

You respond with your name, and he repeats it thoughtfully, his smile widening at the sound of it. "Are you feeling okay now, angel?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Edward doesn't seem that convinced, and sits on the bed next to you, his arms encircling your waist as he pulls you up and onto his lap. Your cheeks heat up at the action, and Edward giggles under his breath, holding you tightly to his chest as if you've been together for months. His hair tickles your neck as he buries his face in your neck, rocking you soothingly in his embrace. You let yourself relax into it, and smile softly at the odd, fast-paced intimacy, almost laughing as you think about how unusual this all is.

Edward hums a tune contently as one hand strokes your side and the other plays with your hair. It sounds like Ave Maria, an old church song, and you listen quietly, your head resting against his chest and the deep green, thick cotton fabric of his hoodie.

You can feel yourself grow tired again, and settle in his comforting hold as your breathing evens out slowly. Edward seems to notice, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the hand in your hair strokes your cheek.

"Good girl... just sleep," he coos, the hand at your side pressing you further into him. "I'll be here. I love you..."

And so you do.

Taglist:

@greenxtea0 @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowers @hxney-lemcn @confusedchildsstuff @phantomofthecathedral @sugahbabieexo @bokksieu @skateb0red @wilburrrsworld @philiasoul @darthcringe @felicityofbakerstreet @bloodypantomime @deadlights-darling @tianotfound @mortem-muse @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙄 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 || the riddler/edward nashton x reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || for the most part, you've managed to let go of the life you lived so long ago, fighting to survive in an orphanage with your best friend at your side; you thought it was the only way to cope with the trauma and move on so you could start living in better means. but the cost of selling out is higher than you thought, and lying to yourself is harder than lying to everyone else. good thing there's a new vigilante in town who really, really hates lies.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 15k (yeah.... strap in y'all)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || SMUT (penetrative sex, loss of virginity, emotional sex, slightly dom!edward), best friends to strangers to lovers, some reader x male oc stuff, explicit violence/murder, minor character death, mentions of previous childhood abuse, bullying, stalking (implied), voyeurism, ANGST!!, hurt/comfort, young reader and young edward doing kid stuff (and sometimes adult stuff but it's not explicit), somewhat non-linear timeline, possessiveness, overall just a lot of emotions

𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩

Everything is so oppressively cold and damp; your fingers are pruned just from the moisture in the air, but your lips are somehow still chapped from dehydration.

You would think that stripping naked would go against all instinct in a cold like this, but the rags you call clothes don’t do anything for you anyways. They can’t keep in warmth you don’t have, all they do is shield you from the wintery draft blowing through the crack in the wall.

But something else can do that, and so you strip to nothing but your barest of undergarments, and join him under the blanket— it’s thin, but it’s wool, so it does the trick. There aren’t enough of them for everyone, and you try to forget what you did to get yours. You’re both so freezing that at first it doesn’t do much, but over the course of the hour your combined body heat is just enough to fight off the chill. He holds you tighter the first time you relax from the growing warmth; your teeth finally stop chattering.

It’s too cold to sleep, but neither of you are really awake, either— embracing each other and living in that in-between state where there are no dreams but real life isn’t too close, either. Tears run down the bridge of your nose, into the crook of his neck where you’ve buried your face, and it’s by far the warmest thing either of you have felt in days.

“Why are you crying?” he whispers. Even just his voice can soothe you.

“Don’t leave me, Eddie,” you whisper back. “Don’t ever leave me… we need to always be together. Promise me.”

“We will always be together,” he assures, hand tightening on your shoulder. “Always, always, always.”

You startled awake from the dream, already crying. Ironically, you were sweating— you threw off the blanket and felt the blast of air from the ceiling fan above on your sticky skin. It made you shiver.

You never thought you’d miss the cold.

The man beside you stirred awake with a groan. “Are you okay?” he asked groggily.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, baby,” you assured, giving his arm a squeeze with your hand before you sat up on the edge of the bed, “I just need a shower. Go back to sleep.”

“I should go, actually,” he decided, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Denise is probably wondering where I am.”

You looked back over your shoulder and noticed the way the ring on his finger catches the light, even when there’s so little in your bedroom at midnight.

The door shut across your apartment while you were in the shower; you just barely heard it past the sound of hot water streaming past your ears. You tried not to think about what you did to afford a living space so large; you tried not to think about why you were so desperate for a taste of luxury.

But some nights, you can’t keep the memories down. Some nights, it’s like he’s right around the corner of your mind— and you just want to reach around and touch his fingers with yours. Some nights, love is almost enough to make you wish for the past, because even though things got so, so, so much better and you’re never hungry or cold… they got so much harder, too.

Always always always.

Some nights, you let yourself wish he’d kept that promise.

~

You’d been sipping on your champagne pretty much non-stop all night, social lubricant to help you tolerate the bustle of cocktail party guests crowding your home, but you stopped as your loitering took you by the window and you caught a glimpse down into the street— children, playing in the snow. They reached right into it with their little hands wrapped in mittens, pressing it into globes in their palms and chucking them at each other, chasing and running around.

Chet’s hand on your lower back didn’t even get your attention, you were so used to it by now. “What’s got you thinking so hard, beautiful?” he wondered with a jovial, tilted smile.

“What are they doing?” you asked, looking at him quickly— his hair was getting longer, and grayer at his temples, but it looked good slicked back— before returning your gaze to the scene below.

“What, the kids?” he clarified as he followed your line of sight. “Sweetheart, they’re having a snowball fight.”

He laughed a little, softly, but he stopped and wrinkled his brows when he realized you weren’t joking.

“You’ve really never had a snowball fight before?” he tilted his head. You understood, then, that if you talked anymore about this that you’d make him confused and concerned and that wasn’t what you wanted to do. Over time, you gained a talent for sensing that you were about to make people uncomfortable with the reality of your childhood— Chet knew you were adopted out of the Wayne House for Orphaned Children, at least, but very few others did.

“I guess it’s just been too long,” you dismissed with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, it's been a few years since it snowed," he recalled. "Do you remember that one winter, record lows in Gotham for the past hundred years or something? Oh, it must’ve been almost ten years back— I can’t remember what year it was exactly, but the whole city got a foot of snow, and almost half of downtown lost power.”

You threw back the rest of your champagne in one go, but it tasted more sour at the back of your throat than you remembered.

“Everybody was having fun the first day, my kids made a snowman,” he remembered with a laugh. I wasn’t having fun the first day, you wished you could snarl at him. “But then it got old fast, thankfully our side of the city never lost power— and we had a back-up generator, just in case.”

A friend of Chet’s appeared beside the two of you, the cigar in his hand emanating a noxious odor; you hated the smell of cigars because it reminded you of your “father” as he was legally considered— the man who took you out of the orphanage for his own twisted benefit. Turns out a rich man isn’t likely to adopt a sixteen-year-old girl with nowhere else to go out of the goodness of his heart.

“Surprised to see you standing by a window,” the man addressed Chet with a hearty laugh, “with that Riddler going after politicians— aren’t you afraid of getting sniped?”

“Don’t make me laugh, Hugh,” Chet replied. “I’d love to see him try— I’ve never had a good excuse to use that fingerprint-activated gun safe under my bed. I wish that punk would give me a chance.”

“You should be more worried about standing at an open window with me,” you joked, and both of them laughed.

“Aw, baby, you know I can’t help but show you off,” Chet cooed as he wrapped his heavy arm around your shoulders left bare by your dress. “Especially when you’re wearing what I bought you— doesn’t she look gorgeous?” he addressed Hugh. “Don’t I have great taste?”

“In dresses, or mistresses?” Hugh wondered. “Oh, doesn’t matter— the answer’s yes either way. It’s just a shame you don’t share.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, Mr. Haverford,” you returned bashfully, “but I don’t think the dress would fit you.”

Hugh and Chet laughed; you were good at this part, the ‘charming girlfriend of the respected senator’ thing. It was an open secret in this corner of society that Chet played the role of a family man for the cameras but kept you on the side as his plaything. Sometimes he said he loved you, but you figured he just loved how owning you made him feel about himself. And he wasn’t cruel, not sadistic or excessively controlling, and he gave you a great life in exchange for your companionship and silence. Your apartment, for example.

Well… it wasn’t really your apartment, it was his apartment, that you lived in. The apartment he bought specifically for you to wait for him in, specifically as a place where he could meet you in private and use your body and vent about the stress of his facade.

You didn’t know if Denise, his wife, knew. Chet seemed to imply that she didn’t since he always told you about coming up with ridiculous alibis for time he’d spent with you; but you wondered how she couldn’t have figured it out by now, when you’d met so many of his friends, so many of her friends…

If she really didn’t know, that was almost sadder than if she did and just pretended not to. But you tried not to think about her… and Chet certainly spent most of his time with you not thinking about her. I just need to get my mind off things, he’d tell you often, and that was his way of saying he wanted to lay back on the couch with his arms and legs spread wide while you got on your knees and sucked him off. That’s also what he meant when he said I’ve got a headache or is that new lipstick you’re wearing? or remember when I bought you that bracelet?

Now that you thought about it, about half of what Chet said to you really was just code for ‘I want a blowjob.’

“Maybe it’s about time to kick all these people out,” he mumbled to you, squeezing your waist for a moment, “end this re-election campaign afterparty a little early, hm?”

That was code for ‘I want to fuck you.’

~

Chet said goodnight to the last of the guests shuffling out the door as you finished rinsing out glasses in the sink. “Thanks for coming out,” he nodded at them, shutting the door behind them and letting out a long sigh when the apartment plunged to silence again.

You heard him coming up behind you, but pretended to be surprised when he started to rub your arms, kissing your neck playfully.

“You look so beautiful tonight, sweetheart,” he mumbled, starting to move one of the rhinestone-coated straps of your dress down your shoulder. “You always look nice in the things I pick out for you.”

“Mm, I do,” you hummed in agreement, drying the champagne flute and setting it aside so you could focus your attention on melting into his strong embrace.

“You need some diamond earrings,” he decided as he kissed the shell of your ear for emphasis. “These rubies are nice, but a girl like you needs diamonds all over.”

“Stoooop,” you whined playfully, purring as his hands moved to your hips, pulling you back into him.

“A girl like you needs a diamond on her finger,” he added, his voice even lower, squeezing your left hand. You gasped and turned around, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Chet, you’re not serious,” you assumed.

“Oh, I am,” he insisted. “I wish I could give it all to you now— but re-election is the worst time for things like this, even though all I really want is to be with you. Believe me, I’m gonna divorce her and I’m gonna marry you, after I win and after that moralist vigilante is thrown into Arkham.”

“Batman?” you furrowed your brows.

“No, that Riddler guy,” he corrected.

You rolled your eyes. “Are you really worried about him?”

“Obviously not,” he scoffed, “but still, a psycho who posts crazy videos online and doesn’t like politicians… I don’t know anything past what I read in the papers, but I bet he’s not a fan of guys like me getting girls like you— cause he could never get a girl like you.”

No, you figured someone hellbent on exposing corruption and manipulation was not likely to be sympathetic to a man nearing his sixties with a much-younger mistress running on the platform of family values. It was too bad the man who adopted you had died peacefully in his sleep three years ago, or maybe a man like the Riddler would’ve given him a little suffering for doing what he did to you— for making the money he made selling the pictures he took, for barely managing to wait until you were eighteen to essentially trade you to Chet in exchange for his support on a tax break bill.

You wondered if he would target someone like you, though, for being complicit in so much. You hid so much more than yourself in this apartment… you kept a lot more secrets than just an affair.

“Is that really why you think he does it?” you wondered aloud. “Jealousy?”

“Baby, let me tell you something,” he began, raising an eyebrow and wearing a somewhat condescending smirk. “Everything is about sex.”

You snorted out a nervous laugh.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, “everything men do— it always has something to do with women. And guys like that, who need to hide behind a mask… well, if they didn’t have to do it to get women, they wouldn’t do it, that simple.”

“You think Batman puts on a mask to get women?” you giggled.

“I think whoever he is, he must not have what it takes to attract attention with the mask off,” he asserted confidently. “He’s probably not ugly, but I bet he’s broke.”

“You think women can be bought?” you said, only letting an acceptable amount of your irritation seep into your tone— you were trying to be the amount of offended that a guy like Chet saw as a sexy challenge, rather than an actual threat.

“I think women like power,” he offered instead, pulling you closer. “Who doesn’t?”

You smiled, looking up into his eyes and then down at his lips. “I think I’d like you even if you weren’t such a big, important politician.”

He let out a proud little groan and kissed you; you were amazed that he fell for that. He was so logical, cynical even, and yet he believed any lie you told that was flattering.

He carefully pulled you along with him, both of you stumbling out of the kitchen and across the apartment— straight to the bedroom, of course. You were laughing together, somewhat mischievously, as you navigated by memory through the dark and toppled onto the mattress.

His weight on top of you would be crushing if you weren’t used to it; he wasn’t quite fat, per se, though he was medically at risk of being overweight. He was just sort of massive, towering and thick everywhere with a stubbiness to his form everywhere you looked… cock included, the one rubbing up against your inner thigh as he writhed on top of you.

Acting like you had sexual desire for him was one of the easiest parts of all of this, just because it was the most feignable emotion. What you couldn’t fake was physical desire— you had to close your eyes and retreat into your mind to find something stimulating enough to get your body prepared for this.

There wasn’t any one person or idea that you turned to in search of arousal, no handsome actor or erotica sampling or kinky pornography you’d committed to memory; it was more just… ideas.

Warm, safe. Loved. Whole.

You felt your panties sliding down your thighs, you heard a groan from above you. “You want me that bad, beautiful?” he purred. “You’re so wet…”

“Yeah, baby, all for you,” you cooed.

He pushed the skirt of your dress up higher and flopped back down on top of you; you winced when he slipped inside you, not reaching very deep but thick enough to give you a little sting when you weren’t expecting it.

Chubby fingers slid your loose strap down lower, exposing half of your chest, and he sighed as he groped your breast with a clammy palm.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he praised. You had trouble taking comments like that personally. Beauty felt so passive for you.

The room was dark, the only light coming in from the living room through the open bedroom door; it cast a big orange rectangle on the wall just past where you could see over Chet’s padded shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and held onto his suit jacket as he grunted into your ear.

Your eyes fell shut, and the concepts in your mind started to narrow in and gain specificity, culminating towards something you couldn’t describe.

Shared secrets. Ink smudges on your fingers. Scraped knees wrapped in bandages, tears wiped away.

Clutching tighter at his clothes, you whimpered aloud— and he seemed fine believing it was because of how he was making you feel and not because of your runaway memories.

Soft hands gripping at your back, pulling you closer and holding you steady. A language only the two of you speak. The plastic rim of eyeglasses bumping into the side of your face. Always always always.

“Oh god,” you moaned aloud.

“Yeah, you like that?” Chet chuckled proudly.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear his voice, even though he was the only man you’d been with for years; the realization made you shoot your eyes open.

The shape on the wall was now a big orange rectangle… with the shadow of a man inside it.

You were so paralyzed you couldn’t even gasp, you couldn’t breathe at all. Chet’s head was in the way, you couldn’t look at the door and see who was standing there, watching you; for some reason, your instincts didn’t tell you to alert Chet to the ominous presence… you just laid there and let him keep going, because that was basically your whole fucking purpose.

“Kiss me,” you breathed, and Chet sat up slightly to hover above you with a self-congratulatory smile.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he pouted, mocking you, before he leaned down and gave you a hungry, sloppy kiss. When it ended naturally a few moments later, you guided his head to rest on the other side of yours— which gave you the freedom you needed to turn your head and look at the man standing at your door, while you felt Chet’s thrust gain speed and lose accuracy (not that they had a lot of that to begin with…).

You’d guessed it based on the jagged edges of his shadow, and at his presence in a time like this, but you were still shocked to see the Riddler standing there— cast in a golden glow from behind, his face impossible to make out while he was backlit like this. Obviously, his face wouldn’t do you much good when it was masked, but for some reason you wished you could see his eyes… you thought maybe it would make his visage less viscerally haunting, give him some humanity; right now, he looked preternatural, otherworldly, when all you could see of him was a vaguely human shape in tones of muddy brown and deep black. Two things stood out in his appearance when he was lit like this: one, the roll of silver duct tape in his hand, which reflected the light rather obviously; and two, the clear plastic frames around his unseeable eyes, which seemed to almost glow with the light shining behind them, though they too disappeared into blackness in the middle with everything else.

There were a few logical responses for you to choose from: scream for Chet to get his gun, scream at him to leave, scream with no particular goal besides expression of terror.

Instead the terror just stayed inside, and you couldn’t look away, and you felt it all building and swirling and making pins and needles wash over your body in waves. You choked on your breath; and the two of you just stared at each other. Shame hit you just as much as sick pleasure at the knowledge that this man was watching you be ravaged by someone else’s husband, by a father and elected official and the man who swore to crack down on prostitution and get ‘whores’ off the streets.

But he had one in his bed. A tear rolled down your temple; you hated yourself, then, as much as the Riddler must have hated you seeing the living hypocrisy you were. Seeing the way you’d debased yourself for a scrap of luxury. But if he knew— if he knew what you’d been through and where you came from and why you spread your legs just to stay off the streets— he’d understand.

Too bad the only person who could ever understand probably still hated you… if he was still alive.

The invisible, overwhelming stare of a terrorist— and the crushing self-awareness you spent most of your waking moments running from like a track star— was having an… unexpected effect on you.

“Oh, fuck, are you close, sweetheart?” Chet groaned loudly. “I can feel your little pussy squeezing me…”

Well, any chance you had of not giving away to this terrifying stranger that you were about to come from being watched by him was out the window.

“I’m close, too,” he continued, “I’m gonna come so deep inside you.”

Not that deep, but, sure. Live your dream, pal. “I— I want you to,” you gasped.

“I want you to come first,” he insisted. Wow, what a gentleman… it was almost like you didn’t fake your orgasms nearly every other time.

You honestly tried not to give in, you already felt horrifically vulnerable with this man watching you, and now he was about to watch you come. He was about to make you come, without even touching you. Or saying a word.

“Come on and come for me,” Chet encouraged— but as you and the man in the doorway contemplated each other, you were sure that he knew you were really coming for him. For some fucking reason.

Your moans got sharper, louder, needier; after being frozen for so long that you would’ve worried he were a statue if not for his heavy breathing, the Riddler stepped forward into the room. You heard every step of his boots as he circled the room and came to stand by the side of your bed, staring down at you much more closely, but Chet didn’t seem to notice… apparently he was distracted at the moment.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you looked up at the faceless man above you; he tilted his head and you felt your channel clench even tighter. “I—!”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your warning as the heat hit you like a paradoxically-pleasant suckerpunch right to the gut. You choked out a loud, pathetic whimper and went limp beneath Chet’s broad form.

His own grunts got louder and louder, erratic thrusts culminating in one rough slam of his hips against yours as he came inside you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he sighed, sinking his weight down into you, “you’re amazing…”

The Riddler raised his arm and you realized he was brandishing a massive metal pipe in his hand, preparing to bring it down on the back of Chet’s head. You tried to reach up to stop him, but the man on top of you was too wide and heavy to give you that much mobility, and you winced as the weapon came down with a clang.

“Damn it,” you hissed, shoving on Chet’s shoulders, but the dead weight of an unconscious two-hundred-pound man was well past your strength ability. “Will you help get this guy off me?”

The intruder reached down and grabbed Chet by his jacket, both of you heaving to turn him over on the bed.

“He was about to fall asleep,” you explained with a groan as you rushed to cover yourself, pushing your dress back down over your legs and sitting up on the side of the bed. “You could’ve waited and saved yourself the trouble of knocking him out— you’re gonna have to wait a while for him to wake up if you want the combination to the safe, I don’t know it.”

You stood up and noticed his head was tilted down— the light finally gave you enough of a look at his eyes and they were pointed down at your chest. You glanced down with him and realized your dress was still pulled down.

“Shit,” you grumbled as you corrected your strap and covered yourself. “Thanks for letting me know my tits were out, Jesus,” you snapped sarcastically. “You already got a free show, get a grip.”

You brushed past him and he was still just standing there, so you turned around and crossed your arms.

“Well, aren’t you gonna use that tape for something?” you shrugged. “By the way— lead pipe, really? Is this fucking Clue? The Riddler in the bedroom with the lead pipe?”

“You’re in no place to question my methods,” he spoke, finally, and unrolled a long stretch of tape with a sticky, tearing noise.

~

You tapped the eraser end of your pencil rapidly on your open notebook, desperately hoping for the energy to focus on Mrs. Gilliam’s lecture on Wuthering Heights. You jumped slightly in your seat when you felt something brush against your back through your shirt— you waited until the teacher turned her back to write on the chalkboard to reach behind and grab the piece of paper.

When you unfolded it, the letters were randomized and made no sense… to anyone except you. You smiled as you turned your pencil around and began to work to solve the cipher. It only took you probably less than a minute, and you grinned when you read the decoded message:

IF I DIE OF BOREDOM IN FRESHMAN ENGLISH, BURY ME UNDER THE BLEACHERS

Just as you started to snort a laugh, you covered it with a cough and no one seemed to notice.

“Now, two of the most important themes of Wuthering Heights are childhood, and love,” the teacher continued. “You should all have a pretty good understanding of the first one, but, whether you believe it or not, you’re a little too young for the second.”

You flipped the page over and started working on your code for the other side; it came to you like second nature now, it was how you and Eddie kept your secrets in a place like the Wayne Orphanage where there was never really privacy.

I WANT TO FIND ONE OF THESE WUTHERING HEIGHTS AND JUMP OFF, your message offered in reply, if he could find the key— which he would, quickly, you imagined.

You folded the paper up and turned to pass it behind you, but you jumped in shock when Mrs. Gilliam was suddenly standing right in front of you, having appeared out of nowhere.

“O-oh, we were just—” you began to make up an excuse on the fly.

“Principal’s office, both of you,” she ordered with crossed arms.

“Wait, it was my fault,” Eddie insisted, “she didn’t do anything.”

“Except write a note to you? I have eyes, Mr. Nashton.” She rolled them for emphasis.

She snatched the paper from your hands and unfolded it; you instinctively reached to try to stop her, but sat back down when you realized it was useless.

“Wow, riveting stuff,” she spoke sarcastically as she displayed the paper for the class. “Random letters? No wonder you’re not interested in English class, you apparently can’t actually write in English.”

The classroom erupted into laughter, and you shot a sympathetic glance at Eddie who was looking down at his knees, cheeks starting to turn a little pink. Getting picked on by upperclassmen and even other freshmen wasn’t really new to either of you, being orphanage kids and all, but you wished the teachers wouldn’t do this kind of thing as well.

“I-it’s a cipher,” Eddie attempted to sheepishly explain.

“I don’t care,” she insisted, “you can explain it all to Mr. Waters and see if he cares enough to keep you out of detention for disrupting my class.”

“Actually,” you interrupted, “we were just passing notes. You were the one that disrupted the class.”

A few astonished laughs and ‘ooooh’s echoed around the room, and Mrs. Gilliam gave you a glare of pure fury. “Be sure to explain that attitude to the principal, too, missy,” she snapped.

And, to be fair, you tried… but it didn’t go over well. You cringed as Mr. Waters glared at you over the thick tortoise-shell rim of his glasses.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, “especially for an issue in class. You’re such a good student.”

“I— well, I try to be,” you offered meekly. “I’m sort of distracted today. So is Eddie— we didn’t sleep much last night, there’s no power at the orphanage and it’s so cold—”

“While I’m sympathetic to your extenuating circumstances,” the principal offered, “I can’t allow you to disrespect teachers on account of a poor night’s sleep. Many of our students lost power in this winter storm—”

“Yes, but our walls aren’t insulated—”

“I wasn’t finished speaking,” he informed you sternly.

“Right, sorry,” you mumbled.

“My point is, there are always excuses,” he continued, “but they never mean much. You’re responsible for your behavior at school, and I would encourage you to consider the company you keep and how that affects your performance.”

You wrinkled your eyebrows together. “You don’t mean Eddie…” you hoped.

“Edward is a bright student,” Mr. Waters mitigated, “but his attitude is… concerning, at times. I think you might be better off with a wider social circle— maybe not latching on entirely to someone so isolated.”

“He’s not isolated,” you defended, “he has me.”

“Yes, well, clearly the two of you have a strong connection.”

“No, we— it’s so much more than that. We don’t just have a connection, we are connected,” you explained defensively. “That’s not a choice, that’s just… how it is. You just wouldn’t understand because you’ve never needed anybody the way we need each other.”

He laughed a little, looking down at where he rested his elbows on his desk, shaking his head. It was so fucking condescending you wanted to scream. “Listen,” he began, “it’s normal, at this age, to feel like you’re the first person to discover feelings this powerful. And it’s normal to think someone you have a crush on now will always be the most important thing—”

“Wait, wait,” you shook your head, leaning back as if you couldn’t physically process his words as fast as they were traveling through the air. “A crush?”

“I’m sorry— love,” he corrected, semi-sarcastically.

“It’s not— um, we aren’t—” you stammered, looking down and feeling your face get a little warm. “It’s not romantic, really. We’re more like siblings, I think.”

I think being the operative phrase there. Siblings sometimes still didn’t feel like enough to capture it, but more than that, things had happened last night that you weren’t sure how to explain. You knew enough to know that it wasn’t technically sex, but… it wasn’t something best friends normally do— definitely not siblings. Even though you’d been thinking about it every moment since, you still hadn’t figured out what it meant. Was it just respite from the cold, survival instinct? Was it a moment of weakness as the winter seemed to seep right into your mind and make you a little delirious?

Regardless, it was perfect. It was a moment of perfect in a life of so much suffering. Three days of blistering cold— the weekend, plus the Monday when the school called a snow day and other children must have celebrated while you cried for hours knowing you’d be separated from your chance at warmth and a decent lunch that much longer— and one night in each other’s arms feeling like you might just be okay.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Waters coughed, “I didn’t mean to assume. But that is the prevailing assumption, when a boy and girl spend this much time together.”

“Well, the prevailing assumption is generally wrong,” you informed him, “because people are generally very stupid.”

He snorted. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“I’m sorry for being rude to Mrs. Gilliam by passing notes in her class,” you concluded. “I’ll write her an apology letter.”

“Considering the circumstances, it may be more fitting to apologize verbally,” Mr. Waters noticed.

“No,” you shook your head, “I’d like to prove to her that I do know how to write in English. Will I be receiving detention?”

“Yes, after school today, until 6,” he nodded, and you nodded back in acceptance. A few more hours in the heated building, with ample time to do homework without the distractions of screaming babies and kids getting into fistfights, was anything but a punishment in your mind. You stood up to leave, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. “Would you send in your, uh, brother on your way out?”

“Sure,” you agreed, and you slipped out of his office, past the receptionist— where you caught a glimpse through the glass wall of Eddie surrounded by four juniors shoving him around, forcibly roughing up his hair and laughing at him as he anxiously shoved his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. One was already midway into dumping the contents of his backpack onto the ground as Ed weakly begged them not to.

You glanced back at the receptionist behind you in exasperation, finding her caught up on a clearly-personal conversation on her phone instead of either noticing, or caring, that this was happening just a few feet away. Sighing, you stormed out of the waiting area and into the hall.

“Where do you get off?” you snapped at the leader: Darren Blanchard, you knew him much better than you wanted to.

“Hey,” he grinned at you— and though it did intimidate you to see him and his gang step closer to you, you were just relieved that it took their attention away from Eddie. “What’s a goody two-shoes like you doing in the principal’s office?”

“What’s an illiterate dumbass like you doing in a school?” you returned, and his buddies sarcastically laughed at your comment.

“You know, it’s a shame you waste all your time with your Loser of the Year over here,” Darren continued. “All us junior guys agreed you’re the hottest freshman girl. You could be popular if you let one of us take you out.”

“Oh, really, you all agreed?” you chirped. “Did you take a vote in between jerking each other off?”

“Listen, bitch,” one of the others— you thought maybe his name was Craig but you weren’t sure— snarled as he grabbed you by your shirt and shoved you back against the glass wall.

“Stop,” Eddie demanded, and they all turned to look at him.

“Ed, don’t,” you breathed.

“Don’t touch her,” he continued anyways, and you sighed in frustration.

“Or what?” another thug challenged. “What are you gonna do?”

“I— I don’t—”

“C’mon,” Darren grinned predatorily. “Tell me what you’re gonna do if I touch her.”

“I…” Edward began again. “I’ll kill you!”

They all laughed, and you hung your head in shame. “Oh my god,” Darren croaked out between cackles, “oh, that’s sad. That’s really sad.”

Probably-Craig grabbed your wrist and Edward made good on his promise— uh, sort of. He threw a punch and hit one of the other boys in the jaw, but it landed like a fly on a dinner plate; the punch he got back, meanwhile, knocked him straight to the ground.

You broke free from the grasp of the boy holding you and knocked him back long enough to get one kick between the legs in, and he crumpled to the ground— but Darren grabbed you and held you back as the other two still standing dragged Eddie up off the ground.

“Let me go!” you whimpered, struggling against Darren’s grasp but finding it totally useless.

“It’s cute when you put up a fight,” he grinned. “Get up, Craig— this little bitch needs to be taught a lesson.”

Obviously resisting the urge to hold his injured groin, Craig clamored up and walked up to where Darren was holding you back… and suckerpunched you right in the stomach, so hard you worried for a second you might wretch. “Stop!” Eddie shrieked, but his own cry was cut short as he got a similar treatment— except much more unrelenting.

You had to blink the tears out of your eyes to catch a glimpse of Eddie getting absolutely pummeled, and it only made you sob harder. A punch to his cheek knocked his glasses off onto the floor, where they were promptly stomped on. “Leave him alone,” you croaked out, “please—!”

Darren dropped you to go get in on the action, and you fell to your hands and knees atop the scattered contents of Eddie’s backpack all over the tile floor; you scrambled up and dashed to the receptionist’s desk, all but slapping the phone out of her hands.

“Look!” you demanded, pointing to the glass wall, and she frowned as she stood up.

“Hey!” she shouted at them, and they all stopped and turned to look at her. “Break it up!”

Principal Waters, apparently overhearing the commotion, stormed out into the waiting room and that definitely got their attention— the boys holding Edward dropped him to the floor unceremoniously and straightened themselves. “You four!” he bellowed. “In my office, now!”

They awkwardly shuffled past you. Darren shot you a glare and Craig waited until the receptionist returned to her phone call to whisper, “snitches get stitches.”

“Just worry about the stitches you’re gonna need,” you returned, glancing at his crotch— which yes, he was clutching still, though he was probably overexaggerating the injury for a sympathy appeal to Mr. Waters.

As the principal shut the door behind them, you ran back into the hall to find Eddie trying to lift himself up off the floor.

“Oh god, Ed, it’s all my fault,” you whimpered as you reached under his shoulders to help him up. “Your lip is bleeding,” you sighed as you reached up and dotted the blood away.

“I-I’m fine,” he assured, unconvincingly, as he blinked down at you.

“Your glasses,” you remembered. “I’ve got tape in my backpack, hold on.”

You picked up the two halves off the floor, and sat down on the bench in the hall (where he sat down next to you as well) to open your backpack and take out the roll of Scotch tape you kept at the bottom. With a decently-sized strip stuck to one of your fingers, you held the snapped bridge of his frames together and carefully wrapped the tape around.

“There,” you smiled as you turned to the side and gently slipped them onto his face. “It won’t fix the cracked lens, but, it’s a start.”

You noticed the way he was looking at you through the spider-web splinters in the glass, and it made you feel all warm inside. He looked away nervously. “I wish I could protect you,” he mumbled.

“You do, Ed,” you assured as you reached forward to squeeze his hand— but he pulled it away.

“No,” he denied, “you’d be better off without me. I’m the reason they treat you like that. If it weren’t for me you’d be the pretty popular girl.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you scoffed. “Popular is for normal people, and I hate normal people. Pretty is for shallow people— the only ones worse than normal people.”

“Well, you’re still pretty,” he explained, and damn it, there was that feeling again— you didn’t know what to say, but the subject changed itself when the tape on his glasses gave way and the two halves fell limply at the sides of his neck, still hooked onto his ears. You couldn’t help but laugh, covering your mouth with your hand instinctively.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you giggled, “I’m not laughing at you— it just looks funny.”

“No, it’s fine,” he promised, “it’s worth making you laugh.”

“I’m sorry my tape didn’t work…”

“Oh, that’s okay! I’ve got my own—” he looked at the assortment of his belongings all over the floor, pointing to the duct tape roll that had rolled its way across the hallway— “right there.”

He got up to get it and you sighed a little as you got down on your hands and knees to start gathering the papers and notebooks strewn about, while Eddie was busy using his teeth to snap off a small piece of tape and carefully repair his glasses.

“Can you see those well enough to fix them yourself?” you asked, still working on stacking things neatly enough to fit back into his backpack; you glanced up at him and saw him holding the glasses about an inch from his face as he repaired them, making you chuckle to yourself. You looked back down at the papers around you, mostly homework and notes with a few doodles here and there (Eddie liked to draw little things while teachers explained things he already knew everything about), and you tilted your head as you caught a glimpse of one page specifically. It was a cipher— a symbol cipher, not key, and most interestingly it was one you didn’t recognize. There was a legend on the side, and a message in the middle; you could see so much erased and scratched out, clearly he was still working on this specific code. Distracted, you sat back on your feet for a second to try to solve it. You glanced back and forth between the message and the key, decoding it one letter at a time.

I SHOULD HAVE KISSED YOU

You tilted your head when you realized what it said, and just then Eddie snatched the paper out of your hand. “D-don’t look at that,” he mumbled awkwardly, gathering more papers of his own and haphazardly shoving them into his backpack. Before you could ask more, Mr. Waters stepped into the hallway, and you and Edward stood up nervously to await your sentencing.

“Is it true, Mr. Nashton, that you punched Kyle Mitchell in the face?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know, sir,” he admitted, making the principal raise an incredulous brow. “I just swung— I wasn’t sure who I hit… I kinda can’t tell them apart.”

You tried not to laugh at that. “But you did hit someone,” Mr. Waters presumed.

“Yes, sir,” he sighed.

Mr. Waters’ attention turned to you next. “And you… did you kick Craig Johnson in the, uh…”

“Johnson?” you repeated.

“Watch your language,” he frowned.

“N-no, I really didn’t know his last name,” you insisted.

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “well… you admit to kicking him, then?”

“Yes,” you agreed, “in self-defense—”

“Regardless,” Mr. Waters interrupted, “school policy dictates that any involvement in a physical altercation merits an out-of-school suspension of at least one day—”

“Out of school?” you repeated, choking up instantly. “Principal Waters, please—”

“It’s not up to me,” he assured.

“It’s so cold,” you whimpered, “there’s no food, please, you can’t keep us out of school!”

“I can, and I have to,” he repeated, firmer.

“Please, just an in-school suspension, detention for a month, anything!” you offered.

“Suspend me for the whole week,” Edward bargained, “and let her come back tomorrow. Please.”

“Eddie, no,” you whined, but Mr. Waters stopped you both.

“Student discipline is individual,” he explained, “and not something that can be traded or transferred to someone else. You’ll be sent home with a letter to the head of the House explaining your suspension, and you may return to campus on Thursday. I’m sorry.”

He turned and left, leaving you to fall into Eddie’s arms with shaky sobs. “It’s my fault,” you choked out, “it’s all my fault, if I just hadn’t kicked him—”

“Shh,” he soothed as he stroked your back. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay…”

“How?” you whined.

“When we get back from school,” he began, speaking quietly against your ear, “we’re not going to give them the letters. You know they aren’t going to notice anyways… and tomorrow, we’ll wait for the bus, but we’ll get off at the next stop— and we’re going to go spend some money.”

You leaned back to look up at him through your tears. “What are you talking about? What money?”

“Craig Johnson’s money,” he explained, holding up a wallet— which you quickly snatched out of his hand to hide in your backpack, glancing to make sure no one had seen. The receptionist certainly hadn’t, she was laughing hysterically at something said by whoever she was on the phone with.

“Where did you get that?!” you whispered.

“Off the floor— must’ve fallen out of his pocket after you kicked him,” Ed smirked proudly. “We can stop at a diner and get a hot breakfast first, then buy coats at the mall and snacks to hoard when we get back to the Home—”

“Oh my god,” you squealed excitedly as you hugged him tightly. “Eddie, we’re not gonna be hungry tomorrow, or cold—”

“No, we’re not,” he agreed, holding you even tighter in response. “We’re gonna be safe… and we’re gonna be together. Always.”

~

You sniffled and discreetly wiped a tear off your cheek, forcing yourself out of the memory and back into composure as you stood up straight in front of the bathroom mirror.

Stepping out into the living room, you found that the Riddler had arranged a little scene mid-progress; he sat your unconscious boyfriend up in a chair, walking around it to encircle him with the tape. He only had it wrapped around once when he stopped to stare at you.

"Am I next?" you asked. "Are you gonna tape me to another chair and… torture me, kill me?”

You considered saying the other thing he might be likely to do to you after restraining you, but you didn’t want to give him any ideas. Even though if that was what he wanted to do to you, he could’ve done it by now.

“I thought about it,” he admitted. “The thought upset me. So as long as you don’t interfere and let me carry on, I’ll leave you be.”

You let him go on for about a half second longer, before you had to interrupt him: “Wait,” you mumbled, and he sighed and set down the roll of tape, barely leaving Chet’s limp form stuck to the chair. "Don't kill him," you pleaded. "I know he's not perfect, but he doesn't deserve to die. Wouldn't it be better to keep him alive and use him— like a man on the inside?"

"I have no interest in the usefulness of a bribed senator," the Riddler insisted firmly, "or in the advice of his whore."

You scoffed at the term even though it wasn’t exactly wrong, and made your cheeks sting with heat. "Listen, you don't know me—"

"I know everything about you," he interrupted in a growl, stepping closer to you. "I like to do my research."

“If you know me, then you know why this is what I had to do,” you replied. “Did your ‘research’ show you how awful that orphanage was, that not a cent of Dr. Wayne’s grant ever made its way to us after he died? That we fucking starved? And just when I thought I was free, adopted by an important wealthy man and sent to the best private school in Gotham… well, you must have seen the pictures my dear old dad took of me—”

“You—” he choked, sighing and looking down. “You don’t have to worry about those anymore.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “I— what?”

“There weren’t a lot of copies left,” he explained, “most of them were never digital but, either way, I destroyed them all.”

“Wh—” you choked, looking down at the ground because suddenly looking at his masked face was a little overwhelming. “Why would you do that for me?” you whispered.

“I… you were a kid,” he answered, apparently struggling with an explanation of why he would go out of his way to save your dignity. “I don’t like pictures of kids being out there, I don’t think that makes me particularly special.”

“Of course it does,” you breathed, holding your own arms tightly. “It makes you special to me…”

“Well—” he coughed, “I just wish I could kill everyone who ever bought them, or saw them. I wish I could kill everyone that exploited you— I’m about to kill that senator, because of what he did to you.”

You blinked up at him, thin tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Because of me?” you whispered. “What… what does this all have to do with me?”

“You’ll see,” he promised.

Just then, you only got a split-second warning as you heard Chet yell, and he dashed in out of nowhere to tackle the intruder to the ground. He landed with a powerful thud and you yelped in shock.

“Son of a bitch,” Chet sputtered as he wrapped his fat hands around the Riddler’s neck. Gloved hands reached up and tried to fight him off, but Chet was stronger— and most of all just heavier, leaning in with all his weight.

It’s impossible to describe what came over you then, an instinct so natural you didn’t even realize what you were doing, until you came to and that damned pipe was in your hand, and Chet was collapsed on the floor beside the masked man. The whore in the living room with the lead pipe… but you still needed one more clue to solve the mystery.

“Oh, oh god,” you sighed, falling to your knees; the Riddler was looking up at you, apparently surprised that you saved him— of course he would be, so were you after all. You caught his stare from behind his glasses, which had cracked when he hit the floor, and you leaned in a little closer. Reaching up, your fingers brushed over the leather covering his face, and your lip started to quiver— green eyes looked right through you from behind the shattered glass, and you pulled the frames away gently so you could lift the hood and see his face.

Well, it was a little distorted covered in plastic wrap, but it was still obviously him. He still looked so young and boyish, he looked just like he did in your memories, even though he must’ve aged just as much as you.

You smiled just in time for a tear to slip past your lip. The taste of tears brought back memories too. “Eddie?” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, and his voice was muffled but familiar, casting a cloud of condensation around his mouth on the clear material. You laughed and started to pull at the plastic so you could hold his face unfettered but he reached up to hold your wrist and stop you. “I need to keep that on— so I don’t leave any hair behind…”

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and pressed a long kiss right on his lips: obviously there was plastic in the way, but you just needed to kiss him at that exact moment and a little Saran wasn’t gonna stop you.

You felt his gloved hands reach up and brush gently over your back, delicately pulling you closer, and you smiled. It had to end sometime, though, and the taste of whatever chemical gives this stuff its self-stickiness wasn’t entirely pleasant. You broke the kiss to laugh again, you couldn’t help it with the joy so pure running through your veins that it made you all shaky and tingly like you skipped lunch or something.

At the same time, you both said the same thing to each other: “I thought you forgot about me.”

“You thought I— what?” Edward responded to you. “I could never—”

“Of course I couldn’t forget you,” you breathed. “I know you didn’t want that man to adopt me— you were right, in the end, but I thought you wanted me to stay more than you wanted me to be happy… and you promised to write letters, and you didn’t— I thought you hated me for leaving you behind, but I wanted us to be adopted together, but he just wanted me—”

“Hey,” he interrupted your neurotic ramble with a hand on your shoulder, “I never hated you— I couldn’t hate you, I just knew you wouldn’t be safe with him. And I did send letters, every day. I thought you ignored them all— did you never get them?”

“No, he must’ve thrown them away,” you sighed, “of course he would.”

“I figured you just wanted to forget about everything from before…”

“I did— I tried to, after I moved in here, but I could never stop thinking about you for very long,” you admitted, looking away and feeling your cheeks warm. “What did you end up going into— like, what do you do now?”

“Uh, I do this,” he answered, motioning to his khaki-green get-up and the unconscious man beside him.

“I mean other than this,” you giggled, rolling your eyes.

“I’m a forensic accountant,” he explained, and you beamed.

“Oh, Ed— that makes so much sense for you!”

“Did you ever get a chance to be popular at the private high school?” he asked. “Since you didn’t have me dragging you down.”

“Well, not really,” you hummed, “he only sent me there because he was a big donor and he knew they’d ignore me when I tried to tell them what he was doing… the other kids weren’t as violent as they were at South Gotham High, but they didn’t like a charity case in class with them very much. I hope it wasn’t so bad for you after I transferred…”

“Uh, yeah, it was fine,” he muttered.

“Eddie, don’t lie to me,” you sighed.

“I-I got beat up, a lot,” he shrugged, “but it wasn’t that bad— I mean, I never had to go to the hospital or anything.”

You whimpered and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his chest as he sat up and held you tightly. “I didn’t even know if you survived that place… I’m just happy you’re alive.”

“I wasn’t really alive,” he whispered, “until just now, having you in my arms again.”

A groan made you both turn your heads to the side, finding Chet staring dazed at you both. His eyes trailed over his arms around you, your hands on his chest. “Wh…what?” he mumbled groggily.

Edward sighed and reached for the hood you’d left on the floor, tugging it on. “You’re a tough old bastard, huh?” he grumbled. It must’ve been the mask that changed his voice, he sounded pretty different with it on.

“N-no, please,” Chet began to sleepily beg for his life. Edward grabbed the pipe one more time (even though it had proven to be less of a permanent fix insofar), but turned to you before he did anything with it.

“I would, um, kinda prefer that you didn’t see this,” he told you nervously.

“Right— sure,” you agreed, standing up, even though he’d already seen plenty you would’ve rather him not see tonight. “I’m gonna take a bath, just… come get me when you’re done?”

“Okay,” he hummed happily, turning back to Chet who looked bewildered to say the least. “Where were we?”

You were walking to the bathroom to draw your bath, but you heard a bit more of their conversation on your way.

“What’s going on?” Chet asked, almost accusatory. As if his girlfriend having some bizarre connection with the serial killer in his apartment was more important to him than, you know, the serial killer in his apartment.

“You love her, don’t you?” Ed asked him, and apparently Chet must have nodded before he continued. “I can’t blame you. But I loved her first.”

You shut the bathroom door behind you, in time with the loud sound of the weapon coming down on Chet’s head; you winced, trying not to notice the icky, wet crunching sort of noise a lethal blow like that made.

Turning on the faucet— hot water first, then a bit of the cold side just to keep it from getting scalding— the loud rush of water mostly covered the sounds of Ed unrolling more tape, hopefully enough this time to keep Chet down for good (although you didn’t think he was coming back from that last hit, but you weren’t an expert on these things).

You stripped down out of your dress, letting it fall to the floor in a pile of black silk before you stepped into the rising water.

A sigh of relief fell from your lips as you relaxed into the warmth. Realizing you still had all your jewelry on, you slipped off the bracelets and rings, setting them on the edge of the porcelain tub; you took out your earrings and centered them inside the bracelets delicately.

On accident, you nearly fell asleep right there in the bath just because you were so… at peace. You never felt as safe as you did with Edward nearby, even if he had always seemed worried that he couldn’t protect you. Every good memory from the orphanage came rushing back, every moment of joy born from the suffering: sharing a warm bread roll, hiding under your bed and whispering to each other, carving your secret language with its scrawled shapes and symbols into the wall. On the day before your birthday one year, he’d taken a snack cake home from school and stayed up until midnight with you just to unwrap it and strike a match to stick in it, telling you to blow it out and make a wish. Chet had gotten you a three-tier custom red velvet cake last year, with sparklers and golden lettering sticking out of it, and thrown you a lavish party to serve it at… but when you closed your eyes and tasted the first bite on your fork, you found yourself longing for that empty room and pre-packaged plastic-wrapped cake with the artificial cream and the waxy legally-not-considered-chocolate coating with a wooden match in it. Really, of course, you were longing for him, for your soulmate, your best friend— your always.

As is to be expected with almost falling asleep, you didn’t realize how close you were to it until you were brought back to full consciousness by Eddie opening the door. You blinked your eyes open and smiled up at him, noticing the way his eyes trailed over your body left exposed by the clear, still water. “Hi,” you greeted.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked. “You might want to pack a bag… some stuff to bring to my apartment. Unless you wanna wear my clothes.”

He was obviously being sarcastic, but you were obviously tempted by the idea with the way you bit your lip and glanced away. “I’ll get a few things,” you decided. “I don’t know what kind of money you’re making doing accounting, but if I pawned some of my jewelry we could live large for a while.”

He knelt down, resting one of his elbows on his knee, and gently pulled off a glove. Reaching out with a bare hand, he brushed his fingers over your cheek, and you smiled and took a deep breath. You leaned into his palm and felt him cradle your jaw gently; “We shouldn’t waste any more time,” he breathed, “the police will be here in a few hours, when they see my video.”

“Are they going to be looking for me?” you asked.

“I warned them not to,” he sighed, “but they probably will. You’ll be safe with me, though… no one will ever find you.”

You smiled contentedly, reaching up out of the water to rest your hand on top of his where it held your face, before turning to give his palm a small kiss. “Let’s hope not. I want it to always just be us.”

~

You leaned down over the edge of the crib, smiling at the sweet, chubby face looking back up at you; she smiled when she saw you, and you reached down to let her grab onto your finger. “Hi!” you greeted excitedly, cooing at her as she kicked her feet up and wiggled around. “I wish I could come visit you every day, but I’m not gonna be able to from now on… you gotta stay tough, okay? My little trooper. You made it through that winter, you can make it through anything.”

He didn’t make a sound or move into your line of sight, and yet you somehow sensed Edward’s presence in the doorway; you turned your head up and back to look at him as he watched you. “What are you doing all the way in the nursery?” he asked.

“Saying goodbye to baby Hannah,” you explained, looking down at her again. “I’m gonna miss you, little dumpling!”

She giggled even though she obviously had no idea what you were saying, and you continued babbling at her meaninglessly. Eddie stepped up behind you, and you jumped straight up when you felt his hand on your back. “Stop hiding from me,” he demanded— not angry, not sad, just… flat.

“Eddie, I’m not—”

“And don’t lie, either,” he requested.

You sighed, pulling your hand out of Hannah’s crib and facing him properly.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, and you’re not coming back,” he reminded you.

“I said I would visit—!” you denied.

“You’re not coming back,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t. There’s no reason to be in this place a second longer than you need to. But you’ve been spending all week preparing to go without even saying goodbye to me.”

“Ed, I—” you began, starting to tear up already. “I don’t even know where to start… if I try to imagine not seeing you every day, not living with you and going to school with you, it just makes my brain go blank. I don’t know what life is without you.”

“Well, you’re gonna find out,” he smiled. “You’re gonna do what we always promised we would do… escape.”

You glanced away so he wouldn’t see how hard you were fighting not to cry, as if you could ever hide something like that from him. “But we were supposed to do that together,” you whimpered. “Eddie, I begged them to take you, too, but they said—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured, “I’m not going.”

“But you’ll write to me?” you interrogated. “You’ll visit me? Arkham College Prep is kind of a long bus ride, but I think my new parents are gonna give me an allowance so I can send you the fare—”

“Of course,” he interrupted. “We’re gonna see each other as much as we can, and in a few years we’ll be really free and…”

As he trailed off, you swallowed thickly. You’d spent years planning your lives as adults, but the older you got, the less fantastical your dreams became. You could still remember when he wanted to be an astronaut and you wanted to be a ballerina. Then it was secret agent and rockstar. Then it was engineer and teacher.

By now, it was just the hope that you’d make it that far. Even in a place like the Wayne House where life was near-constant torment, certain things were guaranteed. In adulthood, there’s no promise of shelter from the rain or one meal a day. Worst of all, there’s no one by your side through it all; you were both forced to wonder if it was ever feasible to dream that life wouldn’t keep you two apart one way or another.

You reached up and slipped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He hugged you back, but it felt different— distant. It felt like he was trying to let you go already, and accept that you were leaving for another life without him; you hated that. You couldn’t let this be the end, and you couldn’t let him pretend this didn’t matter so it wouldn’t hurt as badly because it was killing you inside.

Just as you started to hold each other tighter, one of the adult staff happened to walk by the door. “Hey,” she snapped at you both, and you pulled away from each other. “Lights out in ten minutes. You shouldn’t even be in the nursery— go back to the adolescent wing, and stay on your side of the hall.”

Her last warning was especially aggressive as both of you had been disciplined excessively for being in the opposite-gender rooms after hours. It was never anything inappropriate— well, there was that one night that toed the line pretty hard, but the point is your intentions were never as nefarious as they assumed. Thankfully, you only got caught about one-third of the time.

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Eddie nodded at her simultaneously, and she continued walking along.

“After lights out,” you whispered to him, “wait a half hour and then meet me in the courtyard…”

You reached up to rest your hand on his chest and felt his heart racing; your was, too.

“And we’ll say goodbye,” you finished, “properly. The way we need to.”

The time you spent staring up at the ceiling that night, counting the ticks of the clock in the hall outside, was excruciating. Minutes had never been longer in the history of time, probably.

Honestly, you never had a chance at sleeping anyways: a few of the girls most jealous that you had been adopted and were leaving tomorrow had threatened to jump you as soon as you fell asleep. You knew one of them had already been caught with a shiv she made out of an old soda can… so, beyond just excitement to have your secret rendezvous with Ed, you were never exactly in a position to get any rest.

When the time came, you slipped out of bed as quietly as you could (which took an intimate knowledge of the creaky springs in your half-rotted mattress) and crossed the floor delicately (which took an intimate knowledge of the creaky floorboards in the half-rotted floor), dragging your blanket behind you.

Peeking out into the hall, you knew none of the adults would be back to check on anyone for a while… they were supposed to stay overnight to make sure no one got hurt, but even they couldn’t stomach sleeping in a place like this and had a tendency to go back to their homes and return in the morning as if the children wouldn’t notice. Still, you needed to be careful in case one or two stayed behind and would catch you and force you back to your room— or in case you woke up another ward, especially one of the more unsavory boys who might take advantage of finding you alone.

Blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape, you navigated the circuitous path around the House that would take you into the courtyard while passing the fewest dormitories— this place was a maze, but thankfully, you were good at solving puzzles.

When you emerged barefoot into the stone courtyard, shivering when the soles of your feet collided with gravelly rock and the grass that grew in the cracks between, you found Eddie already there, his own blanket under his back as he leaned against the big tree and looked up at the sky. You smiled just seeing him, and scampered over to shorten the time you had to spend away from him (and walking on the cold and mildly-damp ground, if you were being honest).

He looked at you when he heard you coming and smiled back, opening his arms for you to jump into. You draped your blanket over the both of you and nuzzled into his chest, looking up at the sky with him. “I hate that we can never see stars here,” he sighed. “It’s just fog and planes.”

“I think the fog is sort of beautiful,” you admitted, “in its own way.”

“Of course you do,” he laughed softly. “You see the beauty in everything.”

You turned your attention away from the sky and to his face above yours— he was still looking away, so you took a moment to appreciate the shape of his jaw and the way you could just see his eyelashes past his cheek. His glasses reflected the moonlight, so much so that when he looked down at you, you couldn’t see his eyes past the glare on the lenses.

But you still felt his stare, and it made you feel exposed in a way that was unexpectedly pleasant.

“I came up with a riddle,” he announced suddenly.

“Hit me,” you challenged.

“I’m blind, but with me, you see everything a bit more clearly,” he described. “What am I?”

You cycled through a few ideas in your mind, but cracked into a grin when you figured it out. “Love,” you answered.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “you got it…” He reached up and brushed his thumb over your cheek as he slipped his hand around the back of your neck— but then he just… didn’t do anything. He just looked at you and you looked up at him and waited but nothing happened.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” you asked, whispering.

“I— I don’t know,” he whispered back, “I guess I’m just afraid.”

“Kiss me, Eddie… please,” you begged, and finally, he did.

It was everything you hoped it would be: sweet and soft and patient. He pulled you closer and, without breaking the kiss, you sat up a bit so you could climb into his lap and straddle him.

You gasped when he pulled you into him and kissed you harder, tasting your tongue with his own, even starting to let out the quietest moans against you. As you shifted in his lap, an instinctive motion to address the growing warmth in your core, you felt his erection and it made your head spin.

When you broke away, the two of you held your foreheads together and just caught your breath; you carded your fingertips through his hair while his hands held your back. “We never talked about that night, when it was so cold we didn’t know if we’d survive,” you panted.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he explained. “I didn’t know if it was just because of the cold…”

“It’s a beautiful night,” you breathed. “I’m not hungry or scared or lonely. I’m happy, Edward, because I’m with you— and I… I wanna feel you again…” you swallowed and barely managed to find the courage to finish your thought, though you still had to speak under your breath: “inside me.”

He just nodded and kissed you again, and you both rushed to get your bedclothes out of the way just as much as you needed to do this. A kiss on your lips helped keep you quiet when you whined at the initial sting of being penetrated; and more breathless kisses trailing down your neck and over your shoulder soothed you as he promised it wouldn’t hurt anymore— but you didn’t even care. You’d braved so much worse pain for him, and you never regretted a moment of it.

You breathed with each other and moved with each other and it was the most natural thing in the world. Everything good you’d ever had, you shared with him. And now you were sharing pleasure together and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect.

“Tell me we’ll always be together,” you pleaded one last time.

“Always,” he promised.

The physical element of it was over rather quickly, from an objective standpoint, when he needed you to stop so he wouldn’t risk getting you pregnant even more than he already was. But that finite moment felt like its own forever, and even though he apologized that he couldn’t hold out longer, you were anything but disappointed. The night itself was just beginning, and the two of you held each other and talked and kissed and dreamed until the sun started to rise and melt the fog away.

You needed to be back in your beds soon for the morning, but you stayed together until the absolute last second. You made promises— maybe he knew already how hard they would be to keep, but you believed them completely. And you never imagined how long it would take you to really make good on them.

~

You set your duffel bag down as he locked all seven deadbolts behind you. “Cute place,” you mumbled, looking around at the shabby— yet homey— interiors. It looked so much more comfortable than Chet’s apartment, which was populated with geometrical, sterile, white furniture. You saw polaroids he’d taken of himself, in and out of his Riddler garb, taped up to one of the cabinets atop the peeling paint; there were a few empty takeout cartons with chopsticks sticking out of them, which he dashed past you to awkwardly scoop up into his arms. He looked so adorably… puffy, in that massive bomber jacket, and you stifled a giggle.

“Uh, sorry— I would’ve cleaned up, if I knew you were coming back with me,” he defended as he dumped them in the trash. “Obviously.”

“It’s okay,” you grinned.

“Are you, uh, hungry?” he asked. “There’s probably something in the fridge I could make for you—”

“Ed, I was just at a campaign dinner a few hours ago,” you reminded him.

“Well, maybe you worked up an appetite,” he smirked nervously, “with everything that’s happened…”

“I just wanna get settled in,” you explained. “Is there somewhere I should put my stuff?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugged. “The bedroom’s this way, if you wanna hang your clothes up in the closet…”

As you followed him down the hall, you caught more glimpses of his work— contraptions he’d designed, schematics and puzzles and information on his targets. You saw a blurry picture of yourself under Chet’s arm, taken from across the street; a big red ‘X’ in marker covered your dearly-departed ex-boyfriend’s face, and you smiled to yourself.

“In here,” he pointed as he opened the door for you. The bedroom was… efficient. A double mattress on an old steel frame, and just enough room on each side to get around it. There were some books scattered around, cryptography books just as one would expect, and a lamp on a nondescript bedside table, but that was about it. "I need to hang up my jacket anyways…"

He slipped past you when you opened the closet door, stepping inside to unzip his jacket and drape it on a hanger. He was wearing just an undershirt beneath, and the short sleeves gave you a good look at his arms which were… much more toned than you remembered. He was still lean like he'd always been, but not as scrawny as his teenage self, like he'd really grown into his frame.

Apparently, he noticed you ogling him, because he cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses slightly on the bridge of his nose. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"You look good, Ed," you answered with a smirk.

"Oh, thanks," he hummed. "You've always been beautiful…"

A little flustered, you looked down at the floor where you saw his boots take a step towards you.

"I… I still think about the night before you left," he admitted, "when we made love to each other."

Finding the strength to make eye contact again, you found the most beautiful storm brewing in his stare… behind those damn cracked glasses. "I do, too," you replied. "I thought about it a lot, actually— it was the only way I could get through, um… through nights with other people. I only ever wanted it to be you, Eddie—"

"Shh," he interrupted, soothing you with warm hands gripping your shoulders, "it's alright— that's over now. We're together and nothing else that happened in between matters anymore."

You sniffled and slipped your arms around his back to hug him tightly. "You don't hate me for what I did, right? And who I did it with?"

“I could never hate you,” he promised gently. “I… I hate that anybody else ever got to have you, though… that you belonged to someone like him.”

"I was always yours," you sighed, "all I've ever been is yours."

He grabbed your face and kissed you; you didn’t remember Eddie being this forward, but you couldn’t blame him for growing up— and you certainly weren’t complaining, in fact you were immediately melting into it and kissing him back and letting quiet moans slip out when you couldn’t help it. You yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed and climbed on top of you, but initial surprise melted into a needy, happy groan. "Mine," he growled as he started to roughly push your clothes out of the way. "Say it again."

"Yours! Fuck, Eddie, I'm yours— you know I am. Everything, all of me, I belong to you," you whimpered.

"My beautiful girl," he cooed proudly, "my angel. I was so lost without you… I'm yours, too, I need you so bad…"

"Take me," you offered. "Whatever you need, just take it. How long has it been since somebody made you feel good?"

"I… I can't even remember," he mumbled into your neck.

"Please, Eddie, I need to feel you inside me again," you begged, "I'm yours, I'm yours—!"

He groaned loudly and reached down to hastily open and push down his pants. He was already hard and he began to rock his hips so he could rub himself against you.

Shouldn't have been too much of a shock that all of him had grown since he was sixteen— and he wasn't lacking back then to start with. You felt a little intimidated, but even more excited. Grabbing him by the hair and pulling him into another kiss, you giggled when his glasses bumped against your face. You moaned and arched your back into his touch as his palms groped at your chest; you could feel his smug smirk against your lips growing as your legs instinctively spread wider.

His fingertips gently pinched your nipples and, lacking any desire to suppress your arousal— you had nothing to hide from him, anyway— you whimpered desperately and started begging. “P-please,” you choked, “don’t make me wait anymore… I’ve waited so long, I just need to feel you, please—”

“Shh,” he soothed softly, moving his hands down from your chest to the waistband of your sweatpants which he pulled down just a little too slowly; you mewled impatiently. “M’gonna give you everything, don’t worry…

You whined and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hiding your face in his neck, but he didn’t tolerate that for long.

“No, baby, I wanna see you,” he explained as he sat up slightly and guided your head back to lay on the bed again. “That’s better… look up at me?”

You bit your lip and blinked away the tears suddenly gathering in your eyes; afraid he’d think you were strange for crying, you began to explain. “I-it’s just so much, Ed—”

“I know,” he cooed, “it’s a lot— it’s everything. It’s the only thing that matters.”

A little shaky gasp filled your lungs as you felt the head of his cock press up to your opening, and your insides clenched around nothing in anticipation.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructed quietly, staring down at you intensely; his green eyes were so dark when he hovered over you like this, the light on the ceiling above him making the edges of his light brown hair glow golden like a halo. You reached up and brushed your fingers over his cheek, then moved down to hold onto his shoulder. He thrust his hips forward somewhat abruptly and you cried, but worked very hard not to disobey him by closing your eyes or looking away. You hadn’t even realized he wasn’t all the way in yet until he gave you the second half, burying himself to the base of you, and you let out a high-pitched whine.

"Oh god," you hissed, "Eddie, you're so deep… fuck, I can feel you all the way up here…"

You guided his hand to your lower belly, pressing it down so he could feel, too, how well he was filling you. His expression changed as he felt it, and you caught the way his gaze emanated so much power as he started to move inside you and feel the way your stomach shifted under his hand.

You were completely at his mercy, and both of you were becoming addicted to it.

He took his hand off of your belly and lowered down to rest his elbows on either side of your face, hovering above you. Watching you closely, his eyes darted all over your face while he set an unhurried— though not specifically slow, either— pace with his hips.

Being watched by him was already having a similar effect on you now as it did earlier this evening, even when you didn’t know it was him: your walls were pulsing with need and you heard your moans getting so loud they started to echo around the small room.

The pleasure made you tilt your head back and shut your eyes, but he gently grabbed your chin and pulled your face back down. “I told you to keep looking at me,” he reminded you, just a bit more stern than you expected him to be. “I wanna see the look in your eyes when you come apart for me.”

You whimpered but nodded in agreement, a silent promise to follow his instructions and let him see every moment of your orgasm— which was building so much more quickly than it had any right to, making your walls pulse and your toes curl as your legs wrapped around his hips.

“We’re never gonna be apart ever again,” he promised quietly, his voice a little deeper and rougher as his breathing got heavier from the exertion.

“That’s all I ever wanted,” you breathed. An extra rough thrust slammed his head right into your spot and you yelped, feeling your channel bear down on his cock so forcefully it was almost painful— but in the most pleasurable way. “Fuck, E-Eddie, I love you, I love you…”

That phrase was rarely spoken between the two of you, it always seemed sort of obvious. But it felt good to just say it point-blank, and even though you figured he must’ve already known it, he smiled down at you proudly. “I know, baby,” he soothed, “I love you, too.”

“I-I’ve never loved anyone else,” you continued.

“I know,” he responded again.

“I— oh god, Ed, m’gonna come…”

“I know,” he replied finally, lowering his voice this time.

You did your best to focus your attention up at him as you held the back of his neck to keep yourself steady, but the energy coursing through your body seemed to make your vision go a little blurry. You longed to let your eyes fall shut and give in to the dark calling for you, but you needed to stay right here with Eddie— he was going to take you there if you just kept your promise not to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was forget who was making you feel this good, who you belonged to.

“You can let go, angel,” he encouraged you softly. “I’m right here, okay? Just do it, for me, come for me right now.”

You didn’t mind giving away that he had that control over you— he’d already proven it before, exhibiting the power he had over your body just from standing in a doorway. So, it was no wonder that when he was actually inside you, you would do whatever he asked. And he asked you to come, so you came; your eyes stayed open and trained on his, miraculously, as a heavy wave of ecstasy crashed down on you. Just past the deafening sound of your own moans you heard him pant and grunt a little.

“There you go, just like that,” he praised darkly, “such a good girl for me. I can feel you, coming on my cock.”

You could feel him throbbing inside you, too, and it was oddly soothing as you started to come down from your high; going limp beneath him made each thrust rock your body on the mattress, and he kept moving faster and faster.

“I can’t last much longer,” he admitted in a rough whisper. “You’re too perfect, it’s been too long without you—”

“I want you to come,” you assured, tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging slightly though you didn’t really mean to. “I want it so bad, I need you!”

"I'm not pulling out this time," he warned, fucking you so fast and hard now that you had no chance to recover— it felt like you were going to come forever. "I need to come inside you."

"Yes," you moaned, "oh fuck Eddie, please! Please please please…"

“Keep looking at me,” he ordered, even though your gaze hadn’t faltered since his last demand. “Look at me while I fill you up— fuck, I-I’m coming—”

His verbal warning was sort of moot considering you could feel it, every pump of his cock filling you deeper than you thought possible; he gasped and held your hips so he could slam all the way in, deep enough that your eyes would’ve rolled back if you weren’t so damn obedient.

Finally, the minutes-long eye contact was broken as he grabbed your face and kissed you hard, both of you shutting your eyes tightly and pulling each other into an embrace. He rolled you onto your side but stayed inside you, and even just that slight friction on your overstimulated walls made you shiver and whine. Thankfully, his hand stroking your back gently soothed you a bit in that regard.

Cuddling up in bed together, you were so relaxed that you didn’t really remember falling asleep— it was just that you woke up what must’ve been hours later, blinking your eyes open to find him contemplating a sudoku puzzle with a pencil in between his teeth. You smiled and started to shift around, but he quickly grabbed your hips to keep you still.

“N-no, baby, don’t move,” he cooed, “you’re keeping me warm while I work on this.”

Yes, he was still inside you; your body was so accustomed to him that you didn’t notice the stretch that much, except when you moved, and then there was a delicious sting that made chills run up your spine. You would’ve already been sore after he fucked you like that, but keeping him inside you for so long afterwards made you sure that soreness wouldn’t leave you for another week or so. Not that you wanted it to. “How much have you solved?” you asked sleepily.

“Most of it, but it’s a tricky one,” he explained. “Any ideas for me?”

He moved the booklet in front of your face and you blinked the blurriness out of your eyes to examine it. Of course, your attention wasn’t on the puzzle anymore when you noticed his little doodles around the free space on the page. Some of them had to do with trying to solve the square, but most were just miniature sketches— most notably: your face as you slept; a greeting card, like one you remembered seeing on the news addressed to ‘the Batman’; and a diamond ring.

“I’m glad you still draw,” you announced, reaching up to run a finger over the silvery etchings in the page. “You’ve gotten even better.”

“Oh, well, it comes with practice,” he dismissed. He turned the page around and looked at the puzzle again. “Would you wear a ring like this if I gave it to you?” he asked, pointing at the doodle with his eraser.

“I’d wear anything you gave me, Ed,” you informed him.

“I know it’s kind of silly for you to have a ring when you won’t be able to leave the apartment for a long time— but I wanna see it on your finger anyways,” he explained, smiling slightly. “I’d wear one, too. Even under my gloves when no one can see it. And that way just you and I know they’re always there.”

You smiled back at him, reaching up to gently touch his face; he hummed and set the puzzle book aside, closing his eyes as you pet his cheek. “You know we don’t need anything to show how we feel,” you reminded him. “It doesn’t make it more important or more real. We love each other more than most people who wear rings like that could even imagine.”

“Of course not,” he breathed, “but it might be nice, I think…”

“I think so too,” you agreed, nestling your face back into his chest and drifting into sleep again.

And so, even though it was a bit superfluous at this point, he got you both rings— and although they looked quite typical to someone passing by on the street, they were anything but usual. Edward carefully designed the mechanism that made them interlock; he described it as just another way that you ‘solve’ him. His ring had a sort of keyhole, little notches arranged in a circle that he kept turned inside his palm, and they fit perfectly with the setting of the stone on your ring. When you used yours to unlock his, a panel in the gold pulled out of the way and showed the engraved message inside, written in symbols only the two of you knew how to read: Always.

They're adorable seriously they're so cute. I love how you described Eddie and his mimics. Your writing is so good...

Double Down, Triple Threat 

Summary: insecure!Eddie x bartender!Reader

Eddie is constantly flirting with you after his Corroded Coffin sets at the Hideout, and you have the bad habit of flirting back. What happens when you overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for you? Maybe you’ve had the wrong idea about the cocky metalhead who negs you for free drinks. Now you need to take it into your own hands to resolve some built up tension. 

Smut, as always, with a touch of angst but generally fluff/happy ending. 

Word count: 18k (eek! in retrospect I maybe should have split this into multiple parts but...fuck it, brevity has never been my strong suit LOL) Buckle up for a doozy.

Content warnings: smut, afab reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol consumption, smoking, the devil’s lettuce, mention of Eddie's scars and sustained injuries (slightly canon divergent obviously because our boy is ALIVE here, but the events of season 4 generally stand otherwise), also Eddie does some negative self talk where he refers to himself as mutilated but everything is happy in the end I promise, and scars are nothing to be insecure about he's just down in the dumps you feel me?, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected PIV sex (plz use protection irl), pet names, reader and Eddie shower together

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted a fic on here, but I hope all y’all who are still riding the Eddie Munson thirst train enjoy this :) I’m trying to regain the motivation to write more, so hopefully more fics to come soon (no promises though lol) (maybe some Steve? Steddie x Reader? Let me know what y’all want to see.) I

"I'll have the usual," his hoarse voice and boisterous presence cut through what few other customers sat at your bar, forcing your attention his way.

"Yeah, and what would that be?" you try to give him your best deadpan voice, unsure yet if you were in the mood for his antics. 

"Come on, like I ever order anything other than a whiskey and coke," his curly dark hair stuck slightly to his damp forehead, not having bothered to wipe the sweat from his brow in between the stage and the bar. If you could even call it a stage. It was more of a sad corner with an extension cable and a few amps that his grunting bandmates were lugging back into their truck while he very helpfully came over and tried to flirt with the bartender. You were the only bartender. On Friday nights anyways. 

"That's because you're unoriginal," his drink was already half made as you flick your eyes up through your lashes at him, knowing he was watching you intently, not that he was particular about how his drink was made by any stretch. "You're actually going to pay for it this time," you slid the glass over to him, "I'm not joking."

"You wound me," he tries his best to give you puppy dog eyes, "but I'm pretty sure Randy mentioned something about drink tickets when we negotiated our new Friday slot."

"That's not a thing," you make up menial tasks behind the bar to keep your hands and eyes busy while he relentlessly chats with you, "never has been. Plus if I keep giving you free drinks you'll get the idea that I like you or something." 

Fuck, you told yourself you should stop flirting back with him. Your first excuse had been professionalism, which didn't make a lick of sense considering you were a bar back at this hole in the wall that paid local bands in drink tickets, apparently. Your second excuse had been that as fun as Eddie was to chat with, you hardly knew anything about him other than his loud band and his drink order. 

Unfortunately he liked to chat and sooner than later you knew more about him than you wanted to. Your newest excuse? If you kept flirting back with him he might get the idea that he could see you outside of this dingy bar, and you liked the comfort and safety of the three feet of wood separating you, it kept you from doing something you might regret. 

"Don't act like you didn't like our set," he threw the rest of his drink back, "I saw you watchin' from over here."

"Yeah, well you're kind of hard to ignore, you know, with the volume and all," your voice had a too-playful tone that you mentally noted to dial back on. 

If you were being honest, Corroded Coffin was one of the weekly acts that you didn't entirely mind. Most were groups of middle aged men trying to relive the glory days by booking a weeknight at the Hideout, instruments barely tuned and a setlist that was decades out of style. While Eddie's band certainly wasn't everyone's cup of tea, you found yourself tapping your foot along with their songs more often than not. At least they were original, you’d give them that. 

He held his glass up to signal a request for another. "Go help your friends carry all your shit," you swiped the cup from his hand, hating that you focused on how your fingers briefly touched his, "and then I'll make you another. And I'm charging you for both."

"Whatever you say, babe" he spun around three or four times on the bar stool before sauntering off and finally assisting with moving the amps and drum kit. You rolled your eyes, not that he was watching you anymore, but more to keep yourself from checking out how his shirt clung to his torso. His black t-shirt was always a size too small, revealing his tattoo covered arms that you never allowed yourself to stare long enough at to make out what any of them were. 

Eddie was nice. As much as you liked to push each other's buttons and joke around, he was a lot more respectful than most patrons that tried their hand at flirting with you. He never said anything gross or disrespectful, not something you could say about most men who've had more than a few beers. 

But you didn't want to risk pushing any boundaries with him, because you work here, and his band plays here weekly, religiously. You didn't want things to get weird, and as much as you learned how to avoid certain patrons, there was only so much space between the 'stage' and your station behind the bar. 

Despite this, you have his second drink made before he finishes putting his stuff away, and you haven't started a tab for either of them. A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he notices his already-made drink set by his stool as he walks over from the back door. You couldn't help but feel a tiny smile creep up on your face as well. 

"Really made me work for this one, huh?" he takes the first sip while still standing before setting back into his seat, "truly amazing service, best I've ever had, really." You glare at him while cleaning some cups absentmindedly with a rag. "Not sure if you can tip on a drink ticket though..."

"Fuck off," you giggle and throw the wet towel at him, "you can't charm your way into TWO free drinks you ass."

"Aww you think I'm charming?" the flirtations between you were always edged with sarcasm, which you both found a lot easier than admitting 'hey you need to stop looking at me like that or else I'm going to keep thinking about pinning you against this countertop.'

"No, I don't, which is why you're PAYING for both those drinks," a lie followed by another lie, and you both knew it. "Where'd your band go?"

"Why? 'm I boring you?" he didn't mind taking up all your attention when the other bar patrons were either too drunk to stand or too old to even notice that a metal band had performed for the past hour. "No one's ever accused Gareth of being more interesting than yours truly. Plus he doesn't drink anyways, so your venture capitalist instincts wont work on him." He raised his drink to punctuate his joke before taking another long swig. 

"Ha ha," you don't give him the satisfaction of a real laugh, "I just wanted to make sure you had a ride home in case you try and swindle me into making you a third drink."

"Oh no, I told them all to scram, that I had a hot date with you and my unsettled tab," he leaned over the bar, trying to eliminate as much space between himself and you, "plus I've got a friend coming by to pick me up in a bit. So if you wanted to make me that third drink in exchange for me keeping you company while you close up, I certainly don't have any reason to turn you down."

"Fine," you point at him with a stern finger, "but this one'll be more coke than whiskey."

"Deal," he pointed his finger back at you, moving carefully in so the tips of your pointers touched. This made you genuinely laugh, unable to keep up a wall for too long around him. 

He finished his second drink while you ordered last call, and settled up with crumpled cash and mumbled thank you’s from the few remaining drunks. After closing up the cash register you make him that more-coke-than-whiskey drink as promised, and get to wiping down every sticky surface. 

"What's your drink?" he asks.

"Hmm?" you glance over from your hunched over position, trying to get the wet rag across the underside of the bar where someone had clearly spilt what appeared to be an entire pint of light beer. 

"You know my drink order, I wanna know yours." you stand up straight and look at him. 

You consider pushing back and demanding why he wanted to know, but it was late and you only had so many quips left in you, "Gin and tonic with extra lime." You get back to soaking up the spilt mess.

"Woooooow," his drink was finished and he took it upon himself to grab the broom from behind the bar and start sweeping up the bottle caps and tracked in dirt, "and you had the nerve to call me unoriginal."

"I'm not some creative rock and roll guitar guy like you, I don't need to be original, I'm just a bartender," you let him keep sweeping and start checking off other tasks from your closing list.

"You aren't just a bartender, give yourself more credit than that babe," he held up the dustpan full of crap, silently asking where to put it and you hold open a mostly full garbage bag for him to dump it into before tying it off, "judging by your drink order I would also guess that you're, hmmmm, an 85 year old man."

"Oh my god," you slap him on the arm with another half dirty hand towel, "in that case, you're doing voluntary manual labor just to flirt with this 85 year old man, so maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

He takes a few steps forward, not quite caging you against the bar, but nearly there. "And how am I doing? Is it working?" He's the closest he's ever been to you, jokingly sliding the broom around your feet, pretending to sweep while maintaining searing eye contact.

As the which-one-of-us-is-going-to-learn-in-first question buzzes around you, an irritating light flickers through the big front window, indicating someone had pulled their car right up to the curb with their high beams on. Eddie scrunches his nose up, and your urge to kiss him somehow grows despite his annoyed expression. "That's my ride."

You give him a small nod, turning your head to try and squint to see who could possibly be picking him up at this hour, but not making out much through the foggy glass. "I suppose I can manage the rest without you," you grab the broom from him, fingers touching for the second time tonight, "see you next week, rockstar."

Eddie wants to do something smooth, a wink or a clever line, but instead nervously gives you a nod and is out the front door before he can give it a second thought. The minute the door closes behind him you let out all the air you had been holding in your chest, both frustrated and slightly relieved. Eddie on the other hand- was bursting with regret and frustration, immediately running his hands through his hair and pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. 

"Absolutely not," Steve craned his neck out of his car that always looked like it had just gotten a fresh wax and detail, "at least five feet away from the beemer if you're going to light that." 

Eddie rolled his eyes, considering putting the cigarette back into the carton and getting the fuck away from this bar, but ultimately gave in and pivoted on his heel storming back towards the brick exterior and slumping against it as he flicked his lighter and took an aggressively deep pull. 

"What's your damage?" Steve moved out of the expensive car, keeping a bit of distance from Eddie but close enough that the two could talk, "That bartender you like wasn't on or something?"

"She's inside closing up now, so keep your fuckin' voice down" he gave Steve a glare and then immediately an apologetic look for being so prickly, "I'm just bad at this shit, man."

"You can't be that bad at it, Gareth and Jeff said the two of you eye fuck across the room every Friday night," Steve shrugs, understanding Eddie's drawback but knowing his friend rarely gives himself the benefit of the doubt. 

"Yeah, well, that's not the hard part," Eddie rips his cigarette and presses his wild hair deeper into the brick behind him, exhaling upwards. 

You had taken note that Eddie's ride hadn't left yet, so you busied yourself for a minute before deciding who cares if you had to give him an awkward wave on your way across the parking lot, so you locked up and grabbed the trash to take to the dumpster out back before leaving for the night. 

You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but as soon as the back door clicked you heard their muffled conversation from around the corner. Rather than give away your presence with the clanging of the trash you gently set it against the wall and moved forward silently, staying out of sight but well within earshot. 

"Flirting is the easy part, she's fuckin' easy to talk to, man" Eddie's voice carried, and you felt guilty but continued to listen, "I don't want to just fuck her though, I want to like, date...her."

"Oh," Steve's voice dropped knowingly, "well that's... good, I guess, that you like her like that."

"Well even if I didn't like her like that and was only looking to fuck her," he sighs out, and you carefully listen while furrowing your eyebrows, trying to make sense of their conversation, "she's gorgeous, and no girl that hot- scratch that no girl at all want's to fuck some mutilated freak."

"Don't call yourself a freak," Steve's voice seems apprehensive. 

"Yeah, sure, but you can't say I'm not mutilated." There was a beat of silence, and you didn't have time to think too much about his words before he went off again, voice laced with thick sarcasm, "Oh hey babe, so glad you were able to look past that I live in a trailer park and all my neighbors think I'm a satan worshiping murderer, but I hope you can be cool with my singular nipple and weird lumpy scar tissue, I know it's super hot, you're gonna have to get in line." His voice carried easily far past your hiding spot. 

"You're not giving her much credit dude," Steve was still apprehensive to respond, knowing how Eddie got when he started to spiral, "Maybe she's not that shallow."

"It's not that," Eddie's voice started to calm, "I'd just rather take my twenty minutes of flirting after our Friday gigs than risk it and have her look at me like she's sorry for me or something." 

With that he snubbed out his cigarette butt with the toe of his combat boots, let out a big sigh, and moved to get into the passenger side of Steve's car. You take a few slow, careful steps back towards the slumped garbage bag and wait until you hear the engine start and see the lights pull out onto the opposite side of the road. 

Fuck. Part of you felt incredibly guilty for listening to what was obviously meant to be a private conversation, especially a private conversation about you. But your gears were turning far too fast to get hung up on guilt. 

You always felt apprehensive about Eddie because you figured he was a flirt, a player, the kind of guy who talks to all bartenders like that, and you just happened to be the one he flirted with after his Corroded Coffin shows. You never wanted to get too invested in making him smile or waiting around for him to chat you up, because you know how most guys are, especially guys who carry themselves with that much confidence. And you were fucking wrong. 

Now fully realizing that the ball is in your court, you need to plan your first move. You decided, Eddie was worth taking the risk. 

It was truly a shot in the dark, but if your intuition ended up being a bust then no one would know about your wasted afternoon other than yourself. The following afternoon you drove aimlessly up and down the unpaved residential streets of the trailer park. There were two in town but you had a pretty good feeling that this was the one. 

You only started to feel stupid when you got some confused and slightly angry looks from people going about their business, hanging laundry or smoking on their porches, scrunching their noses and trying to make out the unfamiliar car driving in circles around their neighborhood. 

Aha! There it was. You knew that your gut could only fail you so many times when it came to Eddie. Exactly what you had been looking for, a big black and blue 1971 Chevrolet van strewn with dents, patches of rust, and, your telltale sign, a homemade Corroded Coffin sticker crookedly placed on the faded chrome of the bumper. 

Step one, complete. Step two was contingent on Eddie even being home. The presence of his van had you feeling hopeful. 

You attempt to rid yourself of lingering nerves with a deep breath and silent pep talk. You park adjacent to his van and hop out before your legs can convince you not to, and suddenly you've rung the doorbell and are standing with your hands clasped nervously in front of his door. 

"Just a minute," you hear him yell from inside, step two, complete, "What're you here for? Cuz I only got weed right now so if you're..." his hollering voice trails off from inside as he catches a glimpse of you through the screen. "Y/n? What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Jeez, hello to you too," you try to lace your voice with the same flirty edge that you always took with Eddie, but you didn't have the comfortable barrier of the bar or the security of being the person serving him his drinks. 

"How the fuck do you know where I live?" His tone wasn't quite angry, but it was bordering on more pointed than just confused. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to drop by totally unexpected," you suddenly felt vulnerable, regretting this whole stupid plan, "I can go." 

You start to scurry back to your car and hide your face forever, but he cuts you off with, "No, no, just, why are you here?" He softened his voice, and came down the stoop to hover over you on the last step. 

"Well," here goes nothing, "last night I felt like we sort of got interrupted." You pause, trying to gauge his reaction, "And I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I didn’t want to wait a whole week to see you again."

"Oh," his face and reaction didn't give you much of a clue as to what he was thinking. 

"And," you started filling the empty air with words, as you often did out of anxiety, "I know where you live because I've heard you sing 'fuck everyone in the trailer park, I'll play my music and curse your existance' probably a thousand times, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out where you live." 

He let out a chuckle, despite being deep in the throws of processing your earlier statement of feeling cut off. Of course he wanted to see you outside the confines of the musty bar, he just hadn't expected it to be like this, so sudden. "Well that's fair. I’ll give you double points for perception."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your Saturday," you began to reel again, "just wanted to tell you I'd like to hang out with you sometime, preferably not at The Hideout."

"Can sometime be now?" he hopped down from the last step and gave you an inquisitive smile, nose slightly scrunched and giving you butterflies. 

"Yeah, sometime can be now. You promise I'm not interrupting anything?" you felt a wave of relief, his energy had fully shifted from confusion to your comfortable flirty banter.

"Just a packed bong and have some laundry I probably wasn't going to do anyways," he suddenly realized he either had to invite you inside, which would be slightly embarrassing given the current state of his trailer, or suggest a secondary location, "you hungry? We can grab lunch or something?" 

He offered to drive, and you suggested sandwiches and beer to go for a backseat van picnic. He was relieved that you were down with doing something so casual, no stuffy cafes or overpriced food. If you were more than happy to suggest eating deli counter sandwiches in the back of his clunky van then maybe he had less to worry about than he thought. 

The passing moments between you had him realizing he truly didn't know much about you. Your job, how you had no problem snapping back at rude customers, and most recently your favorite drink. He wanted to know more, and quickly did as you had a 'regular' sandwich order and gave him directions to a side street that looked out onto a small lake, explaining that you'd eat lunch out here sometimes when the weather was nice. He parked the van in reverse, letting the back doors swing open, giving you the perfect bench looking out to the scenery to sit back and eat. 

"All my years living 'round here, I've never been to this spot," he noted through bites of sandwich wrapped in white paper.

"Yeah, most people know the spot across the lake with the rope swing and all that," you gesture across to where there was a popular jumping rock littered with empty beer cans, "too crowded for me though, it's more peaceful over here." 

"Sorry if I was a bit rude earlier," he started, but you quickly cut him off before he could finish his apology.

"No, no," you move your hand over to gently grab his mid gesture, "don't apologize, your reaction was incredibly reasonable."

"I just-' he started but you gave his hand a squeeze, "I really am happy you decided to come by, I didn't want you to think otherwise."

"I'm happy you chose lunch with me over a bong and laundry, that was some tough competition I had," he rolled his eyes at you.

"Don't make fun of me," he nudged your side, "I'm usually pretty wiped from Friday's show and trying to think of clever things to keep up with you, so my Saturday's are usually pretty lazy," your shoulders rubbed against each other, "being a washed up wannabe rockstar and flirting with a girl way out of my league can really do a number on me."

You share a soft giggle but reassure him that playing live music, even if it is only for you and a crowd of five drunks is still pretty cool. "Plus I like that you dress like this all the time, it's not just an act, this is just how you are," you gesture to his ripped jeans and ring clad fingers.

"What did you expect, babe? Surprise me at my trailer to find me in a polo and khakis?" the suggestion alone had the two of you laughing, brainstorming an alternate universe where Eddie was an accountant by day and only let his rocker side loose on Friday nights. 

"If you aren't secretly an accountant, what do you do when you're not playing music, if I may ask," you realize this was really one of the first personal questions you'd exchanged, keeping things punchy and surface level until this point.

"Ah, well," he scratches the back of his head, "although I wish the drink tickets we make at The Hideout were enough to cover rent, I work down at the body shop, you know the one down the street from the grocery store? My uncle knew some guys there and hooked me up with a job fixing cars after high school, and it's not too bad, I'm not half bad at it either, so that's where I'm at."

"You just really keep getting better and better, huh?" at first he wonders if your comment is sarcastic, but you continue "So what I'm hearing is you'll look at my rattling engine for free? I know nothing about cars and am always worried the people at the body shop are going to overcharge me."

"I only charge in sandwich dates and drink tickets, so you're in luck," he responds quickly without giving it much of a thought. 

You take a second, "What about dinner dates? Maybe movie dates too? Are those acceptable payments for your mechanic expertise?" 

"Not usually, but I'll make an exception for you," he responds after a few beats, realizing you wanted to see him again, and not just at the bar. 

You both are looking out at the lake, the buzzing energy around you making you nervous to look at each other. So you just tilt your head sideways to rest on his shoulder, "Phew, that's a relief, because I have a lot more of these planned."

"Oh yeah?" he shifts his body towards you, lifting your head from his shoulder and finally meeting his gaze, a stupid grin plastered across his face, he couldn't help it. "Which one of these dates do I finally get to kiss you?" You let out a breathy laugh, half amused by his corny line and half surprised he was being so forward. 

"Hmmm, I'm not sure," you pretend to think it over, stringing this out was killing both of you, but you couldn't help but push his buttons a bit more, "I'd say I'm kind of a third date kind of gal."

"Three? As in three from now or three including this one?" He seemed genuinely concerned, causing a genuine laugh to slip through the act you were putting on. 

You move your hand to his chest, faces closer than they had ever been. You had always been sucked into his big brown eyes, but now you saw flecks of honey and deep browns that bordered on black in them, faded freckles dotted across his cheeks, a chapped patch on his lower lip that had clearly been the victim of some anxious chewing. "I'll make an exception this time, for you."

He let you make the first move, leaning in and gently pressing your lips to his, soft and slow. You could feel his breath catch in his throat, prompting you to pull back and look at him through fluttered lashes, as your mouth parted slightly to ask him if that was okay, his big ring clad hands cupped the sides of your cheeks and pulled you right back into him, kissing you like he was afraid you'd evaporate if he ever stopped. 

The wind was knocked out of you. You couldn't be bothered to breathe when your attention was solely focused on his lips, his tongue, the sharp intake air he sucked in between slotting your top lip down to your swollen bottom one, nipping with teeth and holding your face so close. 

After a minute of soft whimpers and exploring the new intimacy you pull back to finally catch your breath, fully ready to ignore the need for oxygen and lean back in when you see his face, rosy and buzzing with excited energy. 

"Sorry, if that was kind of a lot," he realized you had given the sweetest peck and he proceeded to practically shove his tongue down your throat. 

You however, were already brushing his apology off and leaning in for more, missing the feeling of his big hands cradling your face, sending tingling shockwaves down your body. Before you could lunge back at him and take more of what you wanted, he takes your chin in between his fingers and tilts your head up to his.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm sort of crazy about you. And I really don't want to fuck this up, but I've wanted to do that for a really long time.” 

He could tell by your pout that you were begging for another kiss, and he couldn't refuse you. You were completely lost in it. Learning that he let out a little gasp when you ran your fingers up into his hair, that he would catch your bottom lip in between his teeth when you started to pull away and he needed more, that you were already completely wrecked for him. You weren't even conscious of the fact that you were now fully seated in his lap, sandwich wrappers and empty cans long pushed aside. 

Part of you wanted to wait, to let things build up organically over time and get physically intimate when the moment felt right. But fuck it, the moment felt right now. 

Any apprehension or worry of scaring him off dissipated when his thumb ran across your cheekbone, his other strong arm holding you steadily against him, you don't think you could wiggle away if you tried. Swirling in your apprehension you also fought the urge to press your hips down into his and grind against him harder. You wanted to let him take things at his pace and not rush anything, but fuck you could feel his cock getting hard between your legs and it was driving you insane. 

He dragged the knuckle of his middle finger up your neck along the curve of your jaw, speaking softly into your kiss, "can I kiss you here?" pressing his touch into the side of your neck.

"You can do anything you want to me," you pant back, slightly embarrassed at how desperately horny that came out.

"Fuck," he groaned out, cock noticeably twitching against his black jeans and into your thigh, "you can't say shit like that to me."

"Sorry, sorry," you try to gain your composure and lift off him slightly, “I-"

He took a hold of your waist and pulled your back down into his lap, diving into the side of your neck and nipping and sucking until he found the spot that made you squeeze your thighs slightly around him. "Anything I want requires a lot more time and space than we have right now, pretty girl." He mumbled into your neck in between kisses, his words making your back arch slightly more into him. "Plus I need to be a gentleman," you rolled your eyes at this. 

"Since when have you ever worried about that," you tug his hair back to force him to look at you.

"You really want to know what I want, right now?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Really, really," you let your weight sink down onto his lap a touch more, feeling the stiff length under his jeans slot between your thighs a bit deeper, making his breath hitch before he could respond. 

"I want you to lay back on those blankets up there," he nodded towards the few crumpled up blankets he had shoved behind the driver's seat, "and let me eat your pretty pussy until you're screaming loud enough for the people across the lake to hear."

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that. 

This unexpected burst of sexual confidence threw you for a loop, as you were fully prepared to be the one making all the big moves. Your mouth hung open slightly, struggling to form a response when all that was swarming through your mind was holy fuck, holy fuck, that was so hot, what the fuck do I say. 

Rather than respond with words you just roll off his lap and start moving deeper into the back of his van, propping your torso up on bent arms and sending him back a suggestively raised eyebrow. He swung his legs up over the ledge and took one of the doors with him, sliding into the van and quickly shutting the other as well. 

It took a second for your eyes to adjust, the previous sunlight coming in from across the lake was cut off, and the light source now was only coming from the front windows, making things darker but not invisible. You quickly had no trouble making out Eddie's slender form shuffling around and getting situated in between your bent knees, urging you to lay back a bit more and relax as much as your body would allow against the lumpy blanket pile. 

"This is okay?" he asks while leaning down to pick up where you had left off a moment ago. 

"Yes, fuck," you wiggle up into his form, wanting as much contact as he would allow, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into your lips. 

It all had moved faster than you were used to but fuck if it didn't feel so right. Why did you feel more comfortable with this person you hardly knew than you had with your past few long term relationships? He just had this way of taking your nerves and throwing them out the nearest window. 

After sucking on your lower lip until it was puffy and slick he dips his chin into the crook of your neck, dragging his perfect nose up your jugular and nestling into the junction of your neck and ear, licking a stripe all the way. You wanted to desperately buck your hips up into his, but only allowed yourself half the satisfaction of lifting your thigh slightly to give him more space to sink deeper into your slumped form. 

When Eddie’s life flashed before his eyes, on more than one occasion- actually- he wasn’t particularly satisfied with what he saw. In the moments before what he assumed was death, his brain searched for the best moments to accumulate and reminisce on before his body succumbed to the untimely demise he was facing. It wasn’t much. 

He wished he had more than smiling moments with his D&D club, a few killer performances at the Hideout, no killer audiences, some nights of revelry with his friends, and a few forgettable hookups in dingy bar bathrooms. That couldn’t be it, right?

In the wake of his life flashing, fading, and flashing again, he made more space for good things. After his shows now he let himself think about you, and how much he liked you, let himself try his hand at flirting. Because if he was going to come anywhere that close to death again, he needed more to show for it than a few trysts with nameless girls and an unnerving amount of scar tissue. 

So he wasn’t about to fuck this up. If someone came at him with an axe tomorrow, at least he’d have the memory of you splayed out beneath him in the back of his van, lips shiny and cheeks rosy. If his life were to flash before his eyes again it wouldn’t be as bad.  

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he mumbled into your neck, his denim clad thigh pressing perfectly in between your legs. You could only hum back as if to say, “no, tell me.”

“I think you do know,” his teeth grazed upon your earlobe, sending a jolt through your hips and finding solace in the friction between your thighs with his.

“Yeah, I know,” you breathe out, arching your neck down to nudge the tip of his nose with yours, “do you?”

“I didn’t have a clue,” he mumbled into your lips before slipping his tongue against yours, sickly sweet and laced with all the regret of not asking you out sooner. 

You let your ankles hook around one another, locking your hips together and earning a deep rumble of a moan from the man trapped. “I recall you mentioning something about the people across the lake hearing me…” you playfully trail off, equal parts confidently flirty and deeply desperate for him to act on his earlier promise. 

He had nudged his way down into the neckline of your shirt, licking and nipping at as much of your breasts as he could find, fingertips grazing the waistline of your pants. Part of you wanted to just lay here and let him have his way with you, but the conscious part of your brain recognized the insecurities he expressed in that conversation you weren't supposed to hear, and signaled you to be as forward with him as you could be. 

“Fuck,” you struggled to pry your hands between your pressed bodies to reach your jeans button, “Eddie can I take these off, I want to feel you.” 

With your hands moved south, you managed to undo the clasps of your jeans while also running your hands upwards towards his shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath. 

It was subtle, but impossible for you to miss, when your fingertips grazed his lower stomach and trailed up his t-shirt his body shifted into a tense state for just a moment. You could have easily missed it. It took all of a millisecond for him to subtly jerk away from you and redirect the attention to your now unbuttoned pants. His hands were dragging the material down your thighs before you had a moment to register the way he averted your touch. 

He playfully tossed your bunched up pants over his shoulder, as if they had anywhere else to go other than the three feet of van between him and the doors. After that flashed moment of shyness, you noticed nothing but a playful smirk on his face, smile crinkled at the corners of his cheeks and eyes full of wild mischief. 

His hands spread against your thighs, digging his fingertips into as much skin as the width of his palms would allow. 

“So fucking perfect,” he drank you in, hardly noticing the moment you pulled your shirt and bra over yourself, but dumbstruck as soon as his eyes caught sight of your reveal.

Knowing he had yet to put his money where his mouth was, he adjusted downwards and let his flushed cheek make contact with your thigh. In that moment he vowed to let the sight of the little damp patch in the center of your cotton panties stay forever in his mind. 

He didn’t let a single thought register in his brain before he leaned forward and let his tongue lick a fat strip up the middle of your clothed center, adding dampness to the apparent arousal already there. 

“Jesus,” you were slightly taken aback at his action, letting your head fall back, while still lowering your gaze down to where his hooded lids and pink tongue sat in between your thighs.

He reveled in the feeling of being between your thighs, letting his tongue play around the center of your panties for a few strokes before the twitching in your legs signaled that you had had enough of his teasing. 

Taking a blissful moment to hook his finger through the crotch piece of your underwear and pull it to the side to reveal your slick center, he simply couldn’t help himself. He pulled back and drank the sight of you in, panties wet with your arousal and his spit pulled to the side and your perfect cunt finally in his sights. 

The groan he let out only tripled your level of neediness for him. You let your chest puff up and hips gyrate forward at nothing to signal that you needed him, like, now.

Before you could even think of something snarky to say to get him to get on with it, his entire face was fully buried in you. An involuntary ahhh escaped you as he let his entire tongue press as far into you as space would allow. 

“Ohmygod,” all coming out in one breath, “fuckeddie.” 

He groaned deeply into you at the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, your taste, how your hips twitched slightly when his nose pressed against your clit. He didn’t even think about all those drunken chats with the boys or stupid cosmo articles he couldn't help but read, eating your pussy didn’t require any thought, he could only feel. 

Your sighs were like a song to him, every sharp inhale and subtle whimper, he caught it all and it was the most beautiful music. He let his tongue swirl faster when he heard your breath hitch, gripped your thigh tighter when you let out that beautiful exhale. 

“So fucking good for me,” he mumbled into your inner thigh in between licks, fully pussy drunk and ready to stay here forever, “fucking perfect.”

After some selfish exploration, he settled on a steady rhythm against your clit, making your back arch and whines jump an octave. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you groaned, feeling embarrassed how needy your voice already sounded, “can you use your fingers too, please.” Desperate. That’s how you felt, and you couldn't help but be self conscious for any more than a moment, as he immediately headed your request. 

Guitar fingers. You fucking knew it. You always found him attractive and charming, but immediately scolded yourself the moment you started speculating about those damn fingers. If he could learn Metallica solos in private, what else could he do?

Curling upwards in that magically delicious motion that had you already seeing stars, he glanced up at you upon entering and was met with the glorious sight of your mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut. 

You simply couldn’t be bothered by the rickety van floor beneath you, the sad lumpy pillow propped under your head, or the stagnant, vaguely cigarette scented air around you. Nope. No thoughts other than the tightening knot in your stomach and how those pretty brown eyes peered up through too-perfect lashes at you in between sinful strokes. 

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you hardly recognized your voice as your own, “please don’t stop, Eddie, please…”

And there it was, euphoric bliss found in the back of a pot dealing metalhead’s van. Your thighs quivered and your brain lost all capacity for thought. All you could feel was the sudden wash of pleasure, the pulsing between your legs, and the tongue and fingers fucking into you as if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Writhing, trying to keep your moans down despite his verbalized promise for them to be heard far and wide, you try to control the jerk of your hips and grip on his hair. You rode out your orgasm, far sooner than you would have liked. You wanted to revel in it. 

After months of relentless flirting and suppressing your attraction to him, you wish you could have held your orgasm off a while longer. You simply couldn't allow yourself to bask in the velvet of his tongue or the tickle of his bangs on your thighs. You needed it too badly to hold off. 

Coming down from your orgasm, a broken moan cracked from you and let him know to slow his roll. In between catching your breath you catch a view of him sucking your release off of his slick fingers, and almost throw yourself at him, beg him to jump your bones. But all you can do is let out a breathy laugh and find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You come?” he asks, slight snark to his voice.

You muster up the energy to bop him upside the head and ruffle his hair along the way. “Fuck off,” you respond, still breathless, “you know I did.”

“I know,” he cocks his head, still admiring your form, your flushed face and rise and fall of every breath, “It’s polite to ask, though.”

“Ah yes, Eddie Munson, most polite man I know,” you flop back onto the mismatched pillows.

“Hey!” he pretends to sound offended but only manages to tug at your heartstrings, “I’ll have you know, that I am a delight.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” you reach down to feel your dripping folds before hunching forward to search for your underwear, which haven't traveled too far from his knees on the van floor.  

You wanted to return the favor, do more than return the favor, but something about his shift in demeanor and the way he angled his body away from yours slightly to adjust his hard cock in his pants and keep up the too-casual post-orgasm conversation had you thinking it was more than him being too polite to accept your advances. 

“Shit, what time is it,” he begins to shuffle towards the front of the van to check the time while you awkwardly gathered your clothes and redressed, fully assessing that whatever fooling around in the back of this van you were doing was officially over. 

“I, uh, have a few errands to run,” he sounded apologetic, not like he was making some excuse to get you out of his hair, “I can drop you off, or you can come along for the ride…”

There is was, your affirmation that he was just as desperate to hang onto this moment together as you were. 

“I actually have a shift starting pretty soon,” you regrettably admit, “and as much as I’d love to ditch it and be your passenger princess, the Saturday tips are usually the bulk of my rent money so…” 

He understood, he hated how much he understood. 

“What time do you get off?” He didn’t even try to hide how eager he was to see you again, again in ten minutes, again later tonight, again tomorrow, again as many times as you’d let him. 

“Get off? Pretty sure I did that like three minutes ago…” you joke and appreciate his huff of a laugh, “Um, I’m closing, so probably not until like two or three. Don’t worry though, I can give you my number and we can do this again when we’re both free.”

“I’m free later… at two,” his expression was dead serious, “or three, or four, or whenever.” He noticed your brows shoot up and words start to form in your mouth, before you could speak he cuts in, “If you won’t be too tired or anything. I can pick you up?”

“It’ll be pretty late Eds,” you were falling into the trap of his puppy dog eyes, “you don’t need to wait up for me like that, I promise we can see each other again, tomorrow even…”

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy,” he took your hand in his and mindlessly stroked circles into it with his thumb, “but I’m sort of a night owl, not big on the whole sleeping thing anyways, and I’d love to pick you up from work later.”

“Okay,” you agree, the soft earnestness of his voice snared you, and considered the magic he had just worked between your legs, who were you to say no. The glimmer in his eye and quirked smile at your response had you wishing you had said more than ‘okay,’ wondering what kind of look you would have gotten from a ‘yes, please,’ or ‘I’d love that.’

He drove you back to his trailer, not letting go of your hand during the ride, not even to turn up the music at his favorite parts. He offers to follow you back to your place, insisting that waiting for you to shower and change into work clothes and then drop you off at the Hideout was “on the way” to these supposed errands he had to run. 

You roll your eyes but start to accept that this is the kind of guy Eddie is, insincerity undetectable when he makes these offers. You invite him in, but he opts to wait outside with a cigarette, pacing a bit and then forcing his legs and mind to still by waiting in the drivers seat. 

“Hey hot stuff,” he wolf whistles as you exit your apartment, dressed in your usual black shirt and jeans for work, apron balled up in your bag to put on once you arrive. 

He’s sweet, and sincere. As much as you liked the jab banter between the two of you at the bar, you think you might prefer his sarcastic jokes mixed with sweet compliments and longing gazes more. Not that you weren’t getting that from him at the bar before, there were plenty of longing gazes there too, but now the shared glances are heavy with the knowledge of what his tongue feels like on your cunt. 

A sloppy, exaggerated kiss on the cheek and a ‘go get ‘em tiger’ sends you off into the bar, where your hands will be pouring cheap liquor for the next several hours but your mind will be solely occupied with what your post-work date with Eddie entails. 

The drink special of the night was a mix of anxious anticipation and lustful yearning, shaken too aggressively and served with sunsteady hands. Luckily the Saturday rush kept you mostly focused on vodka sodas and Guinness pours, wiping down sticky surfaces and making change for impatient customers. 

You had assistance behind the bar, and that also meant assistance closing up, finally allowing yourself to start peeking through the window to see if Eddie held up on his promise. Of course he had. He’d been waiting in the lot, scoring a few sales from exiting patrons who knew him previous deals, since long before the bar closed. 

You wipe your sweaty palms onto your apron and ball it up into your bag before bounding across the parking lot towards Eddie, who always seems to have this effortless charisma buzzing around him, a cigarette dangled from his pretty lower lip and posture just slouched enough to still be sexy. Maybe you were biased at this point. 

He pulls you in by your waist, angling his chin up to blow the smoke up into the sky rather in your direction. 

“How was work?” Your cheeks were already starting to grow hot at the feeling of his pinky finger landing on the strip of skin between your shirt and jeans, “Miss me?”

“Bartending’s a lot easier when I don’t have your nosy ass pestering me for free drinks,” you cock your head at him, silently asking for a drag of his cigarette, which he immediately understands and complies, “wasn’t too bad though, happy it’s over,” you exhale. 

“If you’e hungry there’s some fries and a milkshake by the passenger’s seat,” he let you slip from his grasp to spin around towards the van door.

“For me?” you peek through the window, realizing he didn’t just mean extras from his dinner earlier, he had gone out of his way to pick you up a post-work snack.

“Unless you aren’t hungry,” he moves to hop in the drivers side, “In which case you can practice tossing fries into my open mouth while I drive.”

You let a few fries fly across the car seat in his general direction, feeding him the occasional one directly, but inhaling most of them shortly after you peeled out of the parking lot. 

“D’you want me to bring you home, or…” you knew where he was headed with this, a nervous edge to his voice. 

“We can hang out back at your trailer if that’s okay,” you say mid-fry, “as long as I can take a quick shower I don’t mind chilling there.”

He grins like a giddy schoolgirl and grips the steering wheel just a touch tighter, and drives just a bit faster back to the trailer park. As anxious as you felt during your shift, you can’t be bothered to overthink with Eddie leaning towards you with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, making googly eyes at the shake you were downing as his way of asking you for a sip. 

He put the van into park before the wheels had even come to a complete stop, hustling around the front to make sure he was the one to open your door. He had spent some of the time you were away straightening up his trailer for the first time in a good long while. Empty beer cans were cleared and he even changed the bed sheets. It still wasn’t the Ritz or anything, but at least he can say he tried.

He tried to busy himself with locking the door behind you after entering, not wanting to see if your eyes drifted over to the mess of records and smoking pariphenelia that cluttered the coffee table, or the chance that the mixture of heavy metal and nerdy posters strewn about would draw a judgmental reaction. 

When he let his gaze drift back to you, you weren’t looking at any of that. You were looking right back at him, already leaning up on your toes and asking, “Can I kiss you again?” 

A mumbled “of course” had you wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his touch, finding his lips already on yours before you could go in for the kill. 

The kiss started off French-fry-and-strawberry-shake flavored, smiling into his lips as the anticipation of seeing him again after only a few short hours slips away. 

“Thank’s for spending so much time with me today,” you whisper in between sticky sweet kisses, “and for the fries and-“

He took your cheeks in his hands and smushed your lips into his mid-sentence, pulling back to see the puckered fish face he held between his hands. 

“You’re welcome,” his big button eyes bore straight through you, as if he saw all of you and more, “but you don’t have to thank me, I like being with you, and I ended up eating most of the fries anyways,” he trails off, cheeks rosy and lips slick from your claim on them.

“You wanted to shower?” He cuts himself off, and feels stupid for it. He knew he could keep kissing you and kissing you and kissing you, and the only thing holding him back was his anxious brain and big mouth. 

“Oh, yeah,” you were a little surprised that he remembered, and chose to bring it up now, “if you don’t mind. I always feel a little sticky after work, you know, with the Hideout’s C health rating and all.”

With a smile that nearly knocked the air out of you, he took a deep bow like some silly court jester and motioned down the trailer’s only hallway. You took your lead and followed his outstretched arm, figuring there were only so may doors that could possibly lead to a bathroom. 

“Oh, shit, wait,” you hear him scramble behind you, shuffling past into the door you assume to he his bedroom, emerging milliseconds later with a crumpled towel in his balled up hand, “you’re gonna want this.”

“Thank you,” you’re slow with your movements, wondering how he was acting so squirrelly, like a middle school boy around the girl he wanted to take to the dance, even though he had you fully spread out begging for him in the back of his van only hours earlier, “is the shower big enough for two?”

You meant it equally suggestive and genuine, knowing full well that not all showers are built for partner bathing. However, the fear stricken look that washed across his face for a millisecond before scrunching up and setting to neutral had you thinking you had just asked if there was a built in hot tub or something like that. His mouth hung open and for a moment that conversation you weren’t supposed to hear replayed in your mind, maybe you had to take this slower than he was willing to let on. 

“Just looking for someone to massage my scalp, that’s all,” you try to jokingly play it off, keeping your invitation open but concealing it with a joke to double back on just in case.

“Yeah, it’s- uhhh,” Eddie, who was always quick with a comeback was suddenly lost for words, “It’s the size of a normal shower, yeah.” It’s not like he could lie, all you had to do was turn around and size it up for yourself. 

You take the towel from his white knuckled grip and pivoted towards the door that was close to having burn holes from where his laser focused eyes were shot. You give him a wink over your shoulder, figuring that was enough of an invitation and vague enough of an excuse for him to leave depending on what he wanted. You hated this line you were towing, knowing more than you should- yet still feeling so in the dark. 

He was right, it was a normal sized shower. A bathtub with a sliding door and a detachable shower head with only one working setting. There was a rack with three-in-one and a bar of dove soap, which should have annoyed you but made you giggle instead. You let a quarter sized drop of the generic body wash slash shampoo slash conditioner lather into your hands when you heard the bathroom door creek open, purposefully left unlocked. 

“Hey, is it okay I’m in here?” He sounded so genuine in his concern, unknowing you were on the verge of begging him to get in the shower with you. 

“Yeah,” you borderline shout over the running water, “here to help massage my scalp?” You let your tone stay light and joking despite being deadly serious. 

“Wow I didn’t realize your hands were really that delicate and incapable,” he tried to match your energy, but an anxious edge remained present. 

“I mean,” you searched for your words, “I’ve seen you play Metallica, I know those fingers could surely get this pine scented crap deep into my roots.” You let the suggestive comment linger, nervous after a beat of silence passed. 

“If you really need my help,” you heard him shuffling around , “who am I to turn a damsel in distress away?”

You felt your cheeks get rosy and shoulders wiggle with excitement as you caught the shower door jerk open. Your face was towards the shower head, and you only turned a quarter of the way around before Eddie stepped in behind you and those guitar-string-calloused-hands gripped your shoulders and twisted you back towards your view of the water stream. 

“I’m gonna make you a deal,” his voice was coated with as much charisma as he could muster, his worries only poking through enough for you to notice, “I’ll give you the full treatment, but you can’t turn around.”

You were willing to play along with about any game he suggested. If he asked you to bend over backwards you’d extend your spine as far as it could go. 

You stood with your front as straight towards the shower head as you could, only feeling his presence behind you and his gentle hands lay on your shoulders to assure you wouldn’t turn around. 

“Just let me take care of you,” he edged closer, letting you feel his naked body enter your space, his face craning over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, “Just stay like this and let me feel you.”

It was less of a question and more of a plea, the only thing more pathetic sounding was the whimper that slipped out of you when you felt his body press against your back, warm and hesitant to press all the way into you, but close enough for you to feel his skin. 

“Okay,” you let your head lull back onto the space between his collar bone and shoulder, keeping your eyes closed, not that you could see anything from this angle anyways, “I’ll stay just like this, promise.”

“I just-“ you could hear his walls come up, suddenly trying to find the words to explain himself to you, “I’m not-“

“Eddie,” you whisper, eyes fluttering open to glance up at him as much as you could, “it’s okay. I’ll stay just like this, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You gently found his hands resting at your hips and guided them up to your soapy scalp, “We both know the real reason I called you in here anyways,” you joked, and angled your head straight forward so he could run the pads of his fingers all through your 3-in-1 coated hair.

He let out a light chuckle at your joke, nearly feeling it catch in his throat as all the passed time of insecurity and locking his feelings away welled up and shattered with the intimacy of washing your hair. What did he do to deserve having you like this? For you to understand and want him to stay anyways? 

As much as his emotions clouded his vision and stunted his breathing, the rush of blood in between his legs broke his internal monologue. As overwhelmed as his mind was, his body couldn’t be convinced to focus on anything other than the sudsy girl pressed up against him, letting out little noises of satisfaction as he let his fingers absentmindedly massage away. 

“This’s nice,” you lean back into him a bit, “it’s like masturbating, you know? Always feels better when someone else does it for you.” You didn’t feel too guilty about the sexually charged comment, considering the fat rod that was pushing into your lower back. 

He let out a short chuckle, but his breathing was rapidly turning heavy as the air clouded with steam and your wet body rubbed against him, fully arching into his erection as if you wanted to get a better feel. 

“Can I wash the rest of you?” his request is polite, but his voice is lust filled and bordering on begging. 

You hum in agreement and lift your arms to let him slip his hands around you, one crossing your chest and the other reaching around to get more gel, “It technically is shampoo and body wash, and I was promised the full treatment here.” 

As much as you wanted to keep joking with him, finding silly things to comment on to break the tension, your resolve was quickly going down the drain as his big hands lathered you up. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is just audible over the rushing of the shower water, “I’ve always thought so, but now I fucking know it.” 

His warm breath against your ear manages to cut through the heat of the steam, making you shiver despite it all. “Eddie,” you whine, his hands running up and down your torso, spending more time on your chest than the rest, but surely showering you in as much attention as his hands could reach.

Knowing that tone from earlier, already committing to knowing your body as intimately as you’ll allow him to, he immediately gives in and touches you exactly where you want him most. 

Most of the bubbles had dissipated, and he held you close to him, with one hand splayed across the center of your chest and the other dipping down to run two fingers through your now parting legs. 

He could feel the slick of your folds, standing out from the water cascading down your body, so warm and wet in a different way. 

“Fucking hell,” he groans out, letting his hips roll forwards slightly to find some friction against your backside, sliding his fingers from your hole up to your clit a few experimental times before letting his middle and ring fingers dip into you. 

When he had gone to town on you earlier in his van, which somehow felt like a million light years ago, you had taken a keen interest to the way his metal rings brushed up against your inner thighs and lower lips when he slipped his digits into you. As much as you had reveled in that new sensation, he had taken all his jewelry off along with the rest of his clothes and reservations before joining you in the shower. And now you could grind down onto his hand until he was completely buried to the hilt of his knuckles, no demon heads or upside down crosses in your way.

You wanted to wiggle and writhe around, feeling a bit week in the knees and desperate to buck your hips down against his pumping fingers. He pressed your chest tighter against him, lips pressed up against your ear, “I thought you promised to be good and stay still for me.”

He could feel your pussy clench at that, letting out a satisfied chuckle and  plunging his fingers right back into your cunt, letting the meat of his palm massage your clit in perfect time. 

“S’ this what you wanted,” his voice had the full bodied confidence of a man who didn’t just ask you to not turnaround to see him without a shirt on, “for me to be all sweet and wash your hair, then make you cum on my fingers like the dirty girl I know you are?” 

The smallest fraction of you wanted to be a brat and joke back at his silly use of shower innuendo, but your mind was almost entirely committed to the feeling of his hands on you and his dick rutting Into the meat of your ass.

“Eddie,” you could barely squeak his name out, “Eddie, can I touch you too, please? Please?” While his voice had been pleading before, you were literally begging to get your hands on him. 

“Like this,” you manage to open your eyes, head still resting against his shoulder and your hand snaking back to where his cock pressed into you, not fully grabbing it but motioning towards it with your hand. 

He snatches your wrist up with the hand not occupied with your tightening pussy, and for a second you fear that you had crossed a boundary. 

As much as you were willing to comply with not looking, you were bursting at the seams to touch him, make him feel good, show him how much you wanted to be right here with him and nowhere else. 

Before your mind could race any further, come to a screeching halt and apologize, he guides your hand up underneath your chin and demands “Spit.”

Your short circuiting brain dashes from his fingers, remaining crooked inside of you, his request, and the tone of voice he used to ask. You were fucked. Drool leaks from your lips before you even have the chance to process his words other than the immediate feeling of oh fuck yes. 

He brings your spit coated hand back to reach around, allowing you to wiggle it in between your wet bodies and find his eager cock already arching into your touch. 

He only faltered for a moment, the consistent dizzying pace of his fingers inside you stuttered the moment he felt your slick palm take an experimental stroke. The moan he let out was involuntary, along with a breathy “Oh, shit.”

Obviously you couldn’t size him up visually, but the weight of him in your palm was enough to have your mouth watering and thighs squeezing his wrist a bit tighter. Uncut? Maybe? With a pretty patch of curls to match his mop top? 

“Just like that, please,” you whine out into the steamy air, the two of you finding a joint rhythm between your hands and subtly rolling hips. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, so warm and tight for me,” every other word slurred into the curve of your neck. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you try and match his increasing speed with your hand, “Eddie, please don’t stop, I’m-“

“Shhhh,” he was getting lost in it too, “I’ve got you.”

Your legs turn to jelly, but he keeps you steadily upright with his support on your chest, focusing entirely on you despite the welling orgasm of his own rapidly approaching. 

It’s the crack in your voice that pushes him forward, the high pitched breathy moans crumbling and releasing the noises of pleasure from deep within your chest. His name  mixed in with ahhhs and uhhhs as if his name is the only word you know in this moment. 

“That’s right,” a sense of confidence welled in him as your limp body twitched against his and your cunt squeezed his relentless fingers, “cum all over my hand, doing so good for me.”

Despite your orgasm wracking your brain and body succumbing completely to whatever Eddie was willing to give you, the thought of collapsing into the shower floor never crossed your mind. He held you so close and steady against his chest, it crosses your mind that you may not be putting any weight onto your feet at all by this point. 

Rather than catch your breath as you come down from your quaking orgasm, you slip deeper into the throws of pleasure, biting your lip and craning your neck backwards so he can see the fucked out expression on your face. A few more steady, enthusiastic pumps mixed with a desperate kiss, wet and at an awkward angle, breathless and needy, perfect and dizzying, sends Eddie over the edge with you.

The deep rumble of his chest against your back as he groans into your open mouth, encourages you to keep your pace as he gently fucks himself into your hand. He’s spilling into your hand and halting his wiggling fingers buried inside you, letting the momentum that the two of you had built up come to a pulsing end. 

The two of you stay tangled in each other for a moment, hands sticky and brows dewy with sweat despite the running water, which had long lost its heat and now settled at a less than comfortable lukewarm. Neither one of you wanted to move. Eddie would have stayed there until his legs cramped and the shower turned ice cold. 

His eyes were screwed shut, head tilted back, still holding you close until you wiggled from his iron grip to bring your cum covered fingers up to your lips to suck two of them clean. 

“Jesus Christ,” he was thankful that he had opened eyes in enough time to witness that, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

You let out a mischievous giggle with his cum coated fingers still in your mouth, glancing over your shoulder to catch the look on his face. Equal parts hungry to pick you up and fuck you against the shower wall right now, and melting down to nothing and slipping away down the drain, unable to even start comprehending what had just transpired between you two. 

You let your fingers go with a pop and turn back around, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to do the same,” you let the chilling water hit your face, focusing on anything other than turning around and lunging at him, wrapping your body around his and letting your skin melt into his. 

He gives into temptation and lets his pruny fingers meet his tongue. He knew what you tasted like from your escapade in his van eaierler, but he’d seize any change he got to take in as much of you as he could. 

“That was,” he started, unsure how to sum how he felt, good, great, perfect, none of those words felt correct, “fuck, yeah- that,”

“Me too,” you press your back into his again, “Thank you Eddie.”

Before he can stumble over his words any more, you ask if he’s okay for you to shut the water off, and you ask if he’d be willing to spare some sleep clothes for you to borrow. You curiously stay in the shower while he takes your excuse for him to leave unseen. 

After toweling off and slipping into the old t-shirt and boxers he left folded up on the counter for you, you found him already dressed and in bed, set criss cross and packing a bong. 

“Post-shower-orgasm smoke, cuddle, then sleep?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you get cozy among the pillows and let the swirling smoke and easy conversation lull you into a comforting half sleep. 

An easy energy settled between the two of you, a silent understanding that you weren’t going to ask him questions, and a building comfort that made him almost ready to show you. 

You slept tucked into his side, and didn’t even mind his snoring or tossing in the night. Every time he rolled over, your sleeping form just found a new way to mold into him. It was the best he had slept in months. 

A steady stream of sunlight blazing directly through the blinds and into your eyes pulled you from your slumber, gorging your groggy eyes to open and crunched up limbs to search for room to stretch. The involuntary fluttering of your eyes and long extension of your libs was far beyond your control. 

“Oh!” You whisper out to yourself once your brain manages to catch up with your waking body, realizing the somewhat compromising position the night had thrown you into, your leg hiked up and clinging to Eddie’s waist, with both your arms scrunching up his t-shirt and leaving a strip of stomach exposed. 

A negligible, unnoticeable few inches between where his sweatpants hung low on his hips and where your gripping arms had balled up his hole-ridden t-shirt stood before your gaze. 

You didn’t mean to stare, and the moment you caught yourself doing so, you quickly and quietly removed your tangled limbs from his and repositioned yourself so that he was half spooning you, eyes facing far away from his unintentionally exposed scar tissue. 

You knew it was probably going to be worse than you were expecting. You hadn’t dedicated much thought to what it could be, or what maybe had happened. You just knew it made him feel like he wasn’t worth your time, and you needed to make him feel seen and safe enough to know that that couldn’t be true. 

Everyone has insecurities, sure. There are surely parts of yourself you weren’t eager to share with the world, let alone someone you’re romantically interested in. You had moved past being astonished that someone who wore gaudy costume jewelry and sang boisterous music for a bar of twelve patrons with the energy of someone who had sold out Madison Square Garden would ever shrink into their shell the way you had seen Eddie. Now, laying in his bed and knowing that whatever it was, the scars were more than what was on his skin.

“Mfffmmm,” he groans and shifts behind you, wiggling beneath the sheets and snaking his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close into him, “This is nice.”

His morning voice was scratchy and barely above a whisper. 

“I think you just like that my butt is all pressed up on you,” you joke, dodging admiring that you’d rather be here than anywhere in the world in this moment. 

“Yeah, I’m not complaining,” he digs his nose into the side of your neck, “But you smell nice too, ’s nice to wake up to.”

“That 3-in-1’s really doing it for ya?”

“No, you do smell like that a little, but more just like yourself. Girl smell.”

“I’ll get started on that perfume line right away. Girl Smell. Might be a million dollar business venture.”

“I just woke up,” the sleep in his voice melted away and his hands running up and down your sides were more deliberate, “Don’t make fun of me. Plus I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed making me all nervous.”

“Anyone with magic fingers like you has nothing to be worried about,” you keep the conversation playful but allow the unspoken truth, that he truly has nothing to worry about with you, be spoken.

“You just like ‘em cuz I washed your hair so well,” he plays with a strand, letting his finger pads dig into your scalp and scratch away, massaging a bit harder after you let out a satisfied groan.

“You must have lots of practice,” you reach an arm back blindly and half smack the side of his shoulder before finding his messy bedhead, staying resolutely facing the poster-covered wall. 

“You’ve got really pretty hair for a boy,” you let your finger wrap around a curl. 

“For a boy?! Excuse me, I have pretty hair period.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true” you giggle at his joking defensiveness, “It’s incredible that it’s this nice considering you use the same thing to condition your hair as you do to wash your balls.”

“If you show me what kind of shower products you like I’ll replace the three in one,” he nuzzles his face into the hand playing with your hair, “but maybe the three in one is what’s keeping it so luscious.”

“I wanna wash your hair next time,” you say absentmindedly, meaning it wholeheartedly, with little anxiety after that you had implied a next time. 

“Yeah maybe next time,” his voice trailed off, still soft and flirty but edging on a tone that let you know this conversation was just about over. 

“Eddie,” it came out as hardly more than a whisper. You wait for him to respond but the gravity of the silence between you quickly became unbearable and you needed to break whatever tension this was. 

“I meant it yesterday when I said I wanted to go on more dates with you. You know that right?”

“Mhmm” he mumbles into your shoulder, still holding you against him.

“We have a lot of fun at the bar and stuff,” you search to find your words, “But I want you to know that I don’t just like you cuz you make me laugh and have magic guitar fingers. I like pretty much everything about you so far, and I want to know you more if you’ll let me.”

Your voice wavers, and your message is perhaps more vague than you would have liked, but the deep exhale he lets out conveys that he hears you loud and clear. 

“I know I’ve been…” he starts, “It’s just that I…”

“It’s okay Eddie,” you flip around, rolling so that your chests are pressed together and noses are almost touching, “I don’t want to push it. You can tell me when you’re ready, I just want you to know that I like you a whole lot and I don’t think there’s much that could change that right now.”

His eyelashes flutter shut, forehead touching yours, “Thank you.” 

“Unless you have a huge chest tattoo of something wildly offensive, or like a tramp stamp that says ‘I heart Ronald Regan.” He appreciates your natural ability to make him laugh even in situations like this. 

“Nah,” he pulls back and gives you a serious look, “Fuck Ronald Regan.” 

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, rolling deeper into the sheets and settling into a comfortable cuddle again, with your head on his chest, face angled up to his and legs all tangled up.

Coming down from the beginnings of the conversation that had been lingering above both of your heads, you place a few reassuring kisses up his jaw and find your way up to his parted lips. 

“Mmmm,” he hums into the deepening kiss to signal you to stop, “I probably have mega morning breath,” he huffs into a cupped hand which makes you laugh and flop your head back into his chest.

“It’s okay, if you do then I do too and didn’t notice,” you peek back up at him, “But if you want to brush teeth and get your day started I won’t stop you.”

“No, no,” he grabs your cheeks and pulls you back up for a smushed kiss, “I wanna stay here all day with you, if you’ll let me. Our second date, we can order a pizza and watch movies here, won’t even have to put pants on.”

“That sounds really nice, I don’t have work today so I’m all yours.”

“All mine,” his grin reaches the apples of his cheeks, “I will go brush my teeth though, cuz I think this second date involves a lot of kissing.”

“Got a spare I could use?” you shuffle out of bed before situating yourself  on the edge of the bed, “Or do you brush with three in one too?”

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, “you with the three in one. After today I promise there will be three separate shower products stocked and ready for your use.”

He manages to find a spare toothbrush in the closet and keeps you wrapped in his arms while both of you take turns spitting into the sink. Looking at the two of you, eyes still crusty from sleep, in the scratched up bathroom mirror, a weird sense of domesticity washes over the two of you. 

Eddie realizes that less than 48 hours ago he was too nervous to make a move to kiss you, and now he was already thinking about making room for your toiletries in his bathroom. 

As comforting and easy it was to do normal everyday things with you at his side, he couldn’t help but notice your nipples poking through his oversized t-shirt you slept in and the way your toothpaste full mouth was framed by your perfect, spit slicked lips. 

“You got a spit kink or something?” You half joke, pressing your ass into the growing rod you could feel nudging against your side.

“Sue me,” he spits and wipes the corners of his mouth, pulling you by the waist into a minty kiss. “Bed? All day?”

“Mhmm,” you agree and lean in to kiss him again, standing on your toes and letting out a shriek of surprise when he scoops you up bridal style and travels the short distance to his bedroom. 

“Eddie!” You yelp out as he gently tosses you back into the pile of sheets. 

“I know I’m no Hulk Hogan, but moving guitar amps is pretty good strength and conditioning.”

“Shut up, you never help your friends carry the equipment.” You think of all the times you watched his poor bandmates lug their equipment after a show while he seamlessly flirted with you. 

“Not when you’re around, you’ve got me there.”

As promised the two of you laze around all morning, bowls of cereal in bed and a bowl of weed to accompany it, switching between fits of giggles and tangled in the sheets while a B horror movie plays on the little TV set propped up near the end of Eddie’s bed. 

He tells you about how he used to live with his Uncle in a trailer down the street until he saved up enough to start renting his own, the three attempts to finish high school and the relief when the local mechanic shop hired him despite his reputation around town as a satan worshiper. He talks a bit about his friends, some who’ve stayed in town and others who’ve long moved away. 

You listen attently, taking in every spared detail. In return he asks you about where you’re from, why the hell you had moved to a bumfuck town in Indiana to be a bartender. He assures you that you wouldn’t have liked him if you had known each other in high school and you laugh and tell him you were far from popular yourself. 

After inhaling a large pizza and running out of VHS tapes you demand a “post pizza bloated cuddle” to which he happily obliges.

“Wish we could do this every day,” he pulls you into him.

“Then we’d need a much bigger movie selection, and maybe body doubles to go do our jobs,” you don’t disagree, although lazy and uneventful the day felt perfect. 

“Don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” he whines, holding you a little tighter.

“Me either, but we can’t be in this lazy cuddle bubble forever,” his hands came up to massage and scratch your scalp, which he now knew you loved, “but next time we’re both free maybe we can have that third date.”

“If I remember correctly, date three is when I finally get to kiss you,” he jokingly smooches behind your ear and down your neck. 

“Only if you behave,” you reply sarcastically, “you’ve been such a gentleman lately, but you’ve been pushing it mister.” 

“I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman before,” his voice trails off as he buries his nose into your neck, “Will you let me be a gentleman now, make you feel good?” His tone was suddenly dripping with lust, sending a rush of arousal through your already so-relaxed body. 

“Mhmm,” you agree and let your body mold back into his a bit more, pressing yourself against him and letting his hands start to wander.

You arch your neck around from your spooning position and search for his lips, your kiss starting out gentle but not staying that way for very long. 

“You’re just somethin’ else,” he breathes out in between heated kisses, his eyes big and round, earnest, making your heart swell.

“Can I make you feel good too?” you roll your hips into his erection, your breath catching in your throat when you feel it pulsing under his boxers and pressing into the space between your legs. 

You flip around to straddle him, not hiding your intention to grind yourself down onto his covered cock, moans from both of you interrupting the hungry exchange of tongues and lips.

A shaky breath grabs your attention and he finds the air to exhale out, “Can I fuck you?”

You bring your hands to his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss, continuing to rock your hips against him, giving him words as well you mumble a “Fuck yes, please, please Eddie.”

He finds the hem of your shirt and slips it over your shoulders, the momentary break in kissing makes you whine. He immediately makes it up to you by paying delightful attention to your exposed chest, leaving sloppy wet kisses on every inch of skin he had access to, “fuck”s and “so perfect” breaking them up. 

You instinctively reach down in between the two of you to take his hard cock into your hand, still pressing your core against it, but taking the rest into your hand to stroke him over his boxers, the choked out moan that escapes him is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You’re losing yourself in the feeling of his weight in your palm, sitting up to see his gorgeous fucked out expression, pinched eyebrows and flushed cheeks.

He swore he’d died and gone to heaven, despite all his sins, with you above him, lip tucked in between your grinning teeth as you rubbed up on him. Fuck, there was no going back after this.

You lean down to resume making out for a moment, missing the feeling of his nose pressed into the side of yours and his too-perfect eyelashes brushing the tops of your cheeks. 

“We can, um-“ you catch your breath, hips stuttering as you find your words, “I can turn around. Or we can make a blindfold or something.” 

His heart swelled at the thought that amidst fucking yourself against his lap you still had the courtesy to think of his comfort, his obvious insecurity, the elephant in the room that he was so desperately trying to shoo away. 

“I want you,” his voice strangely steady, “and I’ll let you have me, no stipulations.” 

You nod with a “Please.”

“Only because, I plan on fucking you every chance I get,” his tone makes you clench your thighs, “So we might as well rip this bandaid off now, because if you’re going to be my girlfriend I don’t want you worrying that I’m hiding something from you.”

He flips you over so you’re now laying beneath him, eyes still glassy with lust and mind swirling with the words he’s just let out.

“I’m gonna take off my shirt now, and I don’t want you to pretend like everything is fine, or that you don’t notice anything, because that’ll be a thousand times worse, okay? I know it’s bad. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but I know it’s not easy to look at.”

With that he pull this black t-shirt off by the back neck collar, and bares his soul to you. You can tell he’s examining your face for a reaction, very carefully managing your facial expressions for his benefit. 

He was right, it wasn’t easy to look at. Only because it made you wonder what horrible thing had happened to leave half of his torso, hip, thigh, and what you could only assume traveled onto his back as well, left entirely torn away and scarred. 

“And-“ he cut off your wandering eyes with his words, “Don’t ask what happened. I’ll tell you eventually I just- We can’t have that discussion if we’re about to have sex.” 

You nodded with understanding, you knew better than to ask. 

You think that your snooping and seed of knowledge helped hide some of your shock, his comment about missing a nipple dampening your realization that he was telling the truth, the scar tissue running so deep that his entire pec was covered in a jagged pink , slightly mishapen scar tissue, and leaving his opposite nipple to stand alone on his chest. 

The one thing that did leave you in a bit of shock was half of a tattoo on his hip that abruptly ended where the scar tissue started. Some sort of zombie head, the black ink lines all coming to a halt when’re his skin had been injured.

You let a tentative hand come up, fearing he’ll flinch away, but he doesn’t. You touch his chest, feeling the textural difference as you let your palm run across his chest and down to his hip. 

“You know, I still think you’re super hot, right?” You try to assure him, but he only lets out a dry chuckle. 

“I mean it,” you sit up a bit, pulling your hand from its exploration of his skin and bringing it to your own chest, using three fingers to cover your left nipple, “you’d still like me, right?” 

The softness in his face almost made you jump up to wrap him into a hug, you wanted him to know that everything was okay and he was safe with you, whatever happened was in the past and he didn’t have to worry. Although the moment was emotionally charged, neither of you could ignore the fact that you were both ravenously horny for each other. 

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide this from me,” you pull his face down to yours, “but I’m glad you showed me, because I’m so fucking ready for you to ruin me.”

He lurches forward and lets his body weight collapse down onto you, your legs widening to wrap around his hips, arm and legs locking him against you. 

Feeling his bare chest pressed against yours, lips on your neck and hips rutting into your spread legs, has your head spinning. 

“Please Eddie,” you whine, “let me feel you.”

Without missing a beat he shoves the waistband of his boxers down just enough to reach his thighs, hard dick springing free in the little space in between you, and he snatches your wrist and shoves it in between your bodies without unlatching his lips from your collar bone. 

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t see what you were grasping, just like in the shower, but you didn’t dare push him off of you to catch a glimpse. He was all over you, hands tangled in your hair, groans and whimpers hardly making their way out in between the wet sloppy kisses he spread across your neck and chest. 

He slips a hand down your body, gracing your ribcage with his fingertips, a stark contrast to how they suddenly part your lips and rub the pool of slick from your hole up to your clit. 

“So wet, this for me?” He quirks and eyebrow and sinks a digit into you, causing your mouth to open and hips to wiggle up to ask for more.

“Yes ’s for you,” you breathe out, wanting to give him some pushback, wipe the smug look off his face, but not finding an ounce of courage to do so. You just let your head lull back and eyelids flutter shut as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you. “All for you.”

You use your free hand to push your underwear as far down your hips as this position will allow, not wanting to shift your focus from the feeling of him on your lips, his pulsing cock in your hand. 

“Need you,” you gasp out, partially at the feeling of his knuckle deep fingers buried inside of you, and equally the fucked out look on his face looming over yours, eyes blown wide and mouth parted on the verge of begging for more, “Eddie, need you to fuck me, please.”

He sits up and removes his fingers from you, earning a wince and a whine. He helps crunch your legs up to remove your panties, leaving your legs raised and crossed over one of his shoulders. He takes a moment to kiss your ankle and tenderly run his hands down the length of your leg. He took the moment to take off his own boxers, leaving you both bare in front of each other for the first time. 

“You’ve got a pretty cock,” you complement him earnestly, it was pretty. He gave you a halfhearted scoff and an eyeball in return. “No Eds, I mean it. It’s big too, good thing you got me ready with your fingers. That and I’ve been soaking wet for you for like 48 hours now, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” you giggle. His shy smile tells you he’s willing to take the compliment. 

You let your legs fall from their perch on his shoulder and fall to either side of his hips, opening yourself up to him. He’s staring, mouth half agape. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but to have you laid out like this before him, fully ready to give yourself over to him and wanting him wholly in return, how couldn’t he stare. 

You let your hand stroke up his cock, bringing his attention back to where the two of you nearly met. You angle him closer to you, you’re slowly pumping fist brushing against your own center. He snaps out of his trance and nudges your hand away, using his own grip to tap his thick cock against your opening. 

Tap, tap tap. His head meets your slick folds, hips jerking slightly with every tap.

“Don’t tease me Eds,” you push your hips forward and are only met with him rubbing his dick into the outside of your pussy, “want you inside, need it so bad.”

He want’s to be a bother and continue his teasing, watching your writhe and squirm, but he can’t find it in him to deny you, so he presses the tip in and gauges your face for a reaction, only finding babbling bliss and pleas for more. 

He’s sinking into you at an agonizing pace, craning down from his kneeling position above you to frame your head with bent arms and his lips on yours as you moan into each other’s mouths, him filling you more and more. 

Your hands are in his hair, keeping your foreheads anchored together, breathing in tandem. He finally sinks all the way down and you can feel it in your lungs. You wrap your ankles around his back and squeeze him into you tighter, not wanting him to move just yet, wanting to just feel how deep he filled you up for the first time. 

He lets out a shaky exhale and squeezes his eyes shut, “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he punctuates this with a subtle roll forward of his hips, lips falling into yours as if they had nowhere else to go. 

You let your legs fall back, unclasping his hips, and move your hands from his wild hair down to his thighs, pushing him to start fucking you. 

“Feel’s so fucking good,” you whisper into his mouth, your hands hardly assisting him anymore as he pumps in and out of your slick cunt, almost knocking the air out of you each time. 

He grabs your chin with the hand that’s not propping himself up, “look at me,” his pace doesn’t falter and your mind nearly turns to mush, “you’re mine now, yeah?”

“Yes Eddie,” it comes out as a broken sob, your eyes barely able to focus on him with how close he was, “all yours, only yours.” Your mind had barely made the decision to say the words before they had escaped your lips, a dumbfounded truth serum setting over you in your cock drunk state. 

You knew it to be true though, there was no going back after this, and you were willing to give yourself over fully, and accept anything he would give you. 

“Ahh, fuck” you let out after a particularly harsh thrust, fists now dripping the sheets beneath you. 

“So fucking good for me,” his hands now found purchase on your hips, setting a rhythm between you that only a musician could. 

Through glassy eyes you admire him. Curly bangs stuck to his forehead, frantically thrusting torso making his tattoos look like stop motion cartoons, and through it all the scars are hardly noticeable. If anything, they’re just another part of him, the person between your legs that you found incredibly sexy, insecurities and all. 

His perfect hands slid from your hips to your shoulders, now using the weight of your torso as leverage to fuck into you harder. His eyes bore into yours, searching for eye contact and finding your reassuring gaze that told him this was everything you wanted and more. 

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you babble out. His little grunts and whimpers send volts of electricity to your core and fog your mind with lust and desire.

He moves a hand down to meet your center, palm splaying across your abdomen and keeping you pinned to the bed, thumb methodically catching your clit with each thrust. He didn’t have to ask if it felt good, the rolling back of your eyes and mouth so wide he could see your molars were enough of an indication that he was headed in the right direction.

“Mhmmmm,” you could hardly form words, but smiled up through your fucked out gaze at him, wide beam and lust fulled eyes telling him that he couldn’t possibly be making you feel any better than you do right now. 

He leans back a bit, balancing himself on his thighs keeping his pace, thumb on your clit and eyes locked into yours. Through a groan he brings his unoccupied hand up to his face, biting down on the knuckle of his pointer finger, trying not to blow his load at the feeling of you squeezing around him. 

Of course, this only made him look hotter to you, and thus you flexed around his cock even tighter. 

Unexpectedly, he pulls out of you completely and before you can muster up the breath to complain, he’s dipped his lapping tongue against you. He fully buries himself into your cunt, cutting off the rhythm, of his cock with the somehow perfectly timed pulsing of his hungry tongue. 

You can’t help but cry out, arch your hips, and send a hand flying to his hair to ground yourself. Through frantic panting and wet slurping sounds you think you can make out a “just had to taste you.”

Completely breathless, you can hardly conjure a response before he’s plunging into you again, fucking into you deeply and capturing your parted lips into a passionate kiss.

Something takes over you, and you’re suddenly wrapping your legs around his hips and using some found momentum to flip the two of your over. Suddenly, you’re on top of him, his curls splayed around his pretty face and body laid flat beneath you. 

Before you had a moment to question yourself, you anchor your hands onto his shoulders and try your best to pick up the pace he had set earlier. Hips rolling and wet slapping sounds coming from between you. 

“Jesus- fuck,” he stuttered in his movements, unsure if he wanted his hands on your face or your tits or your hips or… they landed on your ass and he wouldn’t argue with his first instincts. 

“Eddie, I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” your words were breathy and mixed with lustful gasps, “always wanted to have you like this.”

“We could have done this a long time ago, huh?” He tries not to think about all the time wasted, and instead fantasies about all the making up for lost time you’ll do in the near future. 

“You were always giving me those eyes while you played with your band,” you looked angelic to him, face hovering above him, framed only be the poor overhead lighting and flickering VHS menu of the last film you’d finished, “I always wanted you, just wasn’t sure you wanted me like this too.”

Your statement was simple enough, but he knew what you meant. You wanted him more than a fuck, and that’s what he had been worried about all along. Now, to have you sunk down on his cock like this, telling him that you had been scared in the same way as he had, only made him roll his hops up into you and pull your cheeks down for a sloppy kiss to seal the deal. You were finally on the same page. 

Switching from a bounce of your hips, you lean back slowly and shift to more of a roll, keeping his cock buried deep inside of you while you gyrate your hips. Your arm extends back in between his spread legs to keep you stable, your torso finding its own rhythm in the midst of pleasure and fucking yourself onto his cock. 

“So fucking perfect,” he gasps out, hardly able to take in the sight of your body writhing and rolling above him. He manages to find bait of sense in his brain and brings his hand back to your lower stomach, thumb flicking over your clit with every thrust of your hips. 

“Oh,eddieohmygosh,” it came out as one breathy syllable, “pleasedon’tstopthat.”

He gently fucks himself up into you, matching your movements and not throwing you off of the sinful rhythm you’ve set, just managing too punctuate each bounce with the raise of his hips into yours and the increased pressure of his thumb on your clit. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he loves the way each breathy word out of your lips is matched with the beautiful bounce of your tits, “Eddie, you’re gonna-“

He doesn’t change a thing, the pressure on your clit, the arch of his hips, he would sooner die than rob you of pleasure or ruin this moment. Every moment he get’s to look at you, he thinks it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever looked, but he knows for sure that this one takes the cake. 

“Ahhh, I’m-“ you don’t  have to finish your statement for him to know you’re cumming on his cock, the pulsing squeeze of your walls and intense concentration from him not to bust on the spot, and rather to focus on the parting of your lips and the twitching of your hips on his. 

“That’s it,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, but lets up on the pressure as soon as he feels you jerk against him, “that’s my girl.”

You lurch down and wrangle him into a kiss, only wanting to feel his lips on yours as you come down from your orgasm. You’re still slowly rolling your hips against his, but focused more on the feeling of his cheeks under your palms and his lips on yours. 

“You okay?” He asks in between tongue tied kisses. 

“Yes, perfect, thank you,” you arch your back into him a bit, “ready for more.” 

Although you were fully prepared to bounce on his cock until he came, you were pleasantly surprised when his large hands surrounded your waist and hoisted you up off the bed. He wanted to try and keep his cock inside you, but accepted defeat as he managed to situate on the edge of the bed.

He shifted around you and situated himself in between your legs. You laid out, everything below the knees hanging off the edge of his hand-me-down mattress. He stood above you and lowered himself to land a few wet kisses on your breasts, his hard cock pressing into your needy center. 

He jerked you up by the underside of your knees, pressing your thighs into your chest and sinking down into your open pussy, causing a deep groan to emit from both of you.

Here he was, scars and all, standing above you and thrusting into you as if it was the last thing he would ever do, and he looked like an angel to you. 

More thoughtful than you may have initially given him credit for, his thumb finds your clit again and he politely, yet breathlessly asks, “Can you come again for me, pretty girl?”

How could you say no to that. You dumbly nod and throw your head back against the sheets, your hands balled up at your sides as he thrusted into you, grunting and moaning your name. 

“So fucking good Eddie,” you manage to squeak out, “You make me feel so fucking good.”

“Ah fuck, yeah, yes,” his voice nearly jumped an octive, signaling his release. “Where should I-“ he began to ask.

“Inside,” it came out as two syllables in-between breaths, “It’s okay you can come-“

“Fuuuuuck,” a strangled moan and a collapse of his arms, along with the delicious pulse of his cock inside you signaled his release. 

Before you could eve catch your breath, regain consciousness of the situation, he was reeling back and replacing his softening cock with two fingers. He latched his lips to your clit and began to suck in time with his finger’s replication of his cock’s earlier movements. 

“Oh my god,” you were truly taken aback, his face buried in your cunt and setting you back on track to your building orgasm. 

It didn’t take more than a minute and a half of him slurping your mixed releases from your cunt and bullying your g-spot with those damn magic fingers to send you hurdling towards orgasm number two, shaking and crying out his name. 

It wasn’t until your legs were truly shaking and your hand was searching for his forehead to push him away from overstimulation that he finally let up and let up of your pussy with a wet pop and a smug look.

“You come?” He asks again, just as he had in the back of his van. 

You don’t have the energy to respond, only roll your eyes and flip him the bird as you flop back down onto his bedsheets. 

He managed to get you a warm rag and a cold glass of water, stroking your har and asking if you felt alright.

“Feel perfect Eddie,” you say after a long gulp, “you took such good care of me, you always do.”

He stroked your hair and positioned the two of you back comfortably beneath his sheets. “Thank you,” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“No, thank you,” you kiss him again, “for trusting me.” The look in your eyes could nearly make him melt. “You’re really something special Eddie, I mean it.”

“Special enough for a fourth date?”

You smack his chest and bury your head into his neck. “I don’t think we have to count dates if I’m your girlfriend now…”

Those dimples you adore perk up on his cheeks, and he bear hugs you, scarred chest and all. 

“What time should I set the alarm for tomorrow?” He asks with a sorrow in his voice. 

“How about never,” you roll over to trample him with another kiss, smothering his body in yours, knowing you’d be luck enough to have many moments like this soon to come. 

A/N: I'm sorry I have long lost the tracking of a taglist (crying emoji) don't want to bother anyone who asked to be added the last time I wrote a pic ten thousand years ago, so I hope this reaches everyone it needs to <3

Dano!Riddler, snuggling beside (y/n): You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re my star, the light in my darkest days.

You, jumping awake into a corner: You fucking bitch- I thought I locked the door?!

Dano!Riddler: The window was open.

“I think I’m in love.”

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: you’re new at hawkins high, and the hellfire club practically kneel at your feet.

warnings: language, fluff to the max. just short and sweet:)

a/n: i’m turning this into a series! part two is here

This feeling, this one right here, was the worst. There you stood, front of the cafeteria, tray in your hands as you observed the crowd. You could see each cliché friend group at each table. Towards the left, were the jocks and their cheerleader girlfriends. There were students who held instruments and taped up glasses. There were a few tables that barely had anyone sitting there, a couple quiet kids. On the right, were the students who actually gave a damn about grades, their books cracked open as they studied mid-chew.

Having Military parents was difficult for you, especially with the constant moving. If anything, it was the worst thing about it. Any friends you made were short lived, so as the years went on and you got older, you purposely tried to avoid making friends. Your eyes then settled on a table that made you curios. You’d never heard of that cliché group before. Hellfire club?

It was a group of boys, chattering away with smiling faces and waving their hands in dramatics. Oh well, you thought, and made your way toward their table.

“So, instead of finding a sub for him, you want to postpone?”

“Just for the week! Just until the championships are over!”

“Oh no, I see how it is. Sinclair has obviously been taken in by the dark side,”

“Can I sit here?”

Eddie, and the rest of his hellfire crew’s eyes immediately snapped to the sound of your voice, widening at you, a girl, who stood at the end of the table. “Uh, sorry?” Mike gulped.

You grew red at the obvious disturbance that you had caused, swallowing roughly. “Sorry, it’s just- well, I’m new here and I wondered if I could- but it’s okay! I’ll just-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie snapped his fingers, turning the spotlight on him. “Here.” He patted the seat next to him, shoving Dustin over one. “Forgive us our manners, my lady, it’s not everyday a creature as…lovely as you graces us with your presence.” You chuckled awkwardly, sitting down next to him as you glanced at everyone.

“Thank you.” You nodded to everyone. “I’m y/n.”

“Eddie.” He held out his hand for you to shake, leaning on his other elbow with a curious gleam in his eye. He was trying to sniff you out, because no woman ever just sat with them. Surely, you had to be just like every preppy girl at that forsaken high school. Why would you choose them out of everyone?

You shook his hand, smiling softly as his brown eyes smiled back. “And I’m Dustin!” Your eyes widened as the curly, short haired boy shoved Eddie’s hand out of yours, grasping your own tightly.

“Hi, Dustin.” You kept in your chuckle.

“And I’m Mike!”

Eddie rolled his eyes as everyone about the table took their sweet time with shaking your hand, marveling at the fact they were touching a girls hand. “You guys are very welcoming.” You tucked a hair behind your ear. “But please, don’t let me interrupt, just ignore me.” You smiled, picking up your jelly sandwich.

You were mid-chew, staring down at your hands as the loud chatter of the cafeteria flooded your ear. You glanced up and froze, everyone’s eyes on you. You gulped.

Gareth and Jeff’s mouth’s hung open, faces pressed into their hands as they stared at you. Dustin thought you were cutest thing he’d ever laid eyes on, even more so than Madonna. And Eddie, dear god, was practically drooling at the mouth. He looked like a damn cartoon character with hearts for eyes, watching you as you grew red. There was something so- innocent about you, youthful. You had no idea how hated they were at that school.

“Uh,” You placed down the sandwich. “You want some?” Your words muffled from your mouthful, and Eddie chuckled, everyone else doing the same.

“We’re just waiting for the punchline, sweetheart.” Eddie kicked back in his chair, stretching his arms out. “You see, your with the freaks of Hawkins High. The devil worshipers.”

“See!” Dustin pushed out his chest, pointing to his hellfire shirt.

“Yeah, I saw that.” You nodded.

“And it didn’t scare you?” Eddie raised a brow, poking at the devil on his chest. “This guy?”

You were confused, glancing at everyone around the table. “No? I mean, it’s mostly why I came over here. I haven’t ever heard of that club before.”

“That’s not surprising,” He popped his chair back down, smiling at your confusion. “Ever heard of dnd? Dungeons and Dragons?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You answered.

He nodded. “I figured not. Sweet little girl like you wouldn’t mix herself with the likes of such.”

It almost disappointed him, because he’d already placed you up among the crowd, with the preppy’s and cheerleaders.

“Well, are you going to tell me what it is?” You said softly, watching as his eyes grew hopeful.

“It’s a fantasy role playing game!” Dustin intervened, moving around the table to sit beside you, ignoring the way Eddie grew annoyed. “There’s wizards and warlocks, druids and rogues. And there’s a dice you roll that determines what happens to your character!”

You sat and listened as he listed the game, trying to collect every piece of information he gave you. Eddie wanted to send him to the moon. “Are there elves?” You tried to contribute.

Now that, got Eddie’s attention, at the mere fact you were at least somewhat interested.

“Yeah, there’s elves.” He beat dustin to the punchline, scooting upward as he leaned closer to you. “Really, you can be anything you want to be.”

“What about princess’s?” You chuckled, causing everyone else to do so. Eddie snickered, looking down as he nodded. “Sure thing.”

“Well, it sounds fun.” You shrugged your shoulder. “I don’t get why you’re made fun of for liking a cool game. I’d play if I knew how.” You said the last part mostly to yourself, but the metalhead’s interest was peaked.

He glanced at his sheep, having silent communication about the decision. Girls did not play dungeons and dragons. Girls did not hang out with hellfire club. Girls did not make Eddie Munsons heart soar, only his sweet guitar did.

“You could play with us, if you wanted.” Eddie said, resting his chin against his fist, speaking cautiously. “We’re actually one man short tonight. We play right here at the school.”

His eyes bore into yours, and it gave you a moment to actually take in his appearance. His eyes were beautiful, big and full of excitement. His hair was wild and free, his body adorned in shiny jewelry. He looked the part of an outcast, but the invitation was not something you wanted to pass up.

“I’d need you to teach me.” You smiled awkwardly.

“And I’m,” He leaned in closer, smirking at you mischievously. “A very good teacher.”

The bell rang across the cafeteria, but his eyes remained non yours. You breathed out in excitement, looking at everyone’s shocked faces. “Well, I guess I’ll see you gentlemen tonight then.” You stood, Eddie smirking as he followed form.

“See you then, princess.” He shouted, and you giggled as you waved them goodbye.

He crossed his arms, kicking back into his chair as he watched you walk out of the room. He finally looked to his friends. “What?” He noticed their stares.

“That’s not fair, Eddie!” Dustin complained. “I wanted to invite her! I called dibs!”

“No, you didn’t.” Eddie snorted, standing up. “Besides, this one’s special, boys.” He found you again, staring at your back.

“Why?” Mike groaned.

He swallowed at your bouncing curls, and he knew you were going to disrupt his simple little life. “I think I’m in love.”

again.

they are trying

Imagine Giving Zoro A Massage After Training

Zoro Ronona X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes, mentions of blood, insults, stubborn Zoro, arguing, Zoro and reader have short tempers

Word Count: 1.3k

(A/N:) Happy New Year everyone!! Man how the time flies when you’re having fun. Or at least trying to anyway! Anywho we made it another year and I look forward to spending more time writing and bringing more stories for my readers to read! I’m still in a One Piece mood as I try very hard to catch up (I still have a LOOOOONG ways to go) but I can’t help myself I can’t wait to share my ideas I’ve already gotten for these OP babes. So yes I most likely am jumping the gun but a fangirls gotta do what a fangirls gotta do. So please enjoy these tidbits as I explore this world and all the wonderful characters in it! But please everyone have a safe year and if all else fails just enjoy every moment that you can. Struggle through the hard ones, grow from them. Laugh through the good ones, grow from them as well. Life is all about growing and becoming the people we’re supposed to be. I love you all and I hope for this to be your best year ever! <3 Man that got deep didn’t it? Anyway I’m rambling now but until next time happy reading! ~Countess

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